Norman kept talking. “So that’s why they didn’t give you the list. Police and FBI, too. They’re all looking.”

Charles had his own paddle in his lap. He watched the bids increase.

“How much will it go for?” Norman said.

“Twenty-three, twenty-four for the set, maybe twenty-five.”

“Remember, it’s all going high. You sold them all to him in the first place?”

“Fifteen thousand. Do I see sixteen? Thank you, sixteen thousand.”

“Yes. A book at a time, over the last six years.”

Charles leaned forward, watching the different bidders.

“Do you know everyone bidding?” Norman said.

“So far.”

“From around here?”

“No. Briary Roberts in New York. Jacob Leatherman himself from San Francisco.”

“The old guy?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he was coming?”

“We had dinner last night.”

His eyes were on the contest. The other bidders took turns, pushing the price up.

“Twenty thousand. Do I see twenty-one?”

Charles lifted his paddle. Now he was joined in the battle himself.

“Twenty-one thousand.” For a moment, he owned the bid. “Do I see twenty-two?” And then he did not. “Twenty-two, thank you. Do I see twenty-three?”

Suddenly the bidding intensified with quick jabs from Jacob Leather-man, and then New York again.

“Twenty-five? Thank you. Do I see twenty-six?”

Jacob Leatherman’s paddle quivered in the air.

“Twenty-six. Do I see twenty-seven?”

Charles signaled, quickly.

“Twenty-seven thousand. Do I see twenty-eight?”

Jacob was frowning from across the room, but his paddle was on the floor.

“Any other bid? The bid is twenty-seven thousand. Going once, twice, sold. Lot sixty-four sold for twenty-seven thousand dollars.”

“But I thought you said it was only worth twenty-four,” Norman said.