“So how could they be sure their friend — this Han guy — had found real duskwort?” asked Constance.
“The Benedicts had shown him their research,” Sticky said. “So Han knew what to look for. He used a microscope to study the plants right where he found them. He expected it all to be thwart-wort, and some of it was, but mostly it was duskwort. Lots and lots of duskwort, in fact.”
Reynie wrinkled his brow. Something had been bothering him during Sticky’s account, but he hadn’t been able to lay his finger on it until just now. If the Benedicts had truly found duskwort, wouldn’t it have been the scientific discovery of the century? Why, then, hadn’t they published papers about it? Why hadn’t they even announced it to the press?
“So what does duskwort look like, anyway?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know,” Sticky said.
Constance gave an incredulous laugh. “You don’t know? But I thought you knew everything! I find that awfully hard to believe, George Washington!”
“I don’t care what you believe,” Sticky growled. “I really don’t know.”
“Calm down, everyone,” said Reynie with another anxious wave at Sophie. “Constance, he’s telling the truth. I know you’re upset, but if you calm down and look at him, you’ll know it.”
(Constance was already looking at Sticky, but she was glowering, and glowering tends to obscure one’s vision of deeper things. She did her best to relax, and sure enough, she saw the truth in Sticky’s defiant, angry expression. He really didn’t know.)
“It finally makes sense to me,” Reynie said. “The fact that Anki doesn’t specifically mention where they found the first specimen. The fact that the Benedicts didn’t announce what they’d found, even though it was an amazing discovery. The fact that these papers were hidden away. It all adds up. They were keeping it a secret.”
“Not just the Benedicts,” Sticky said with a sullen look at Constance. “Botanical historians have always considered duskwort one of the great mysteries. In the few ancient texts that refer to it, someone has always removed any description of what the plant looks like or where it’s found.”
“Just as the Benedicts did with Han’s letter,” Reynie said, pointing to the space cut out of one page. “I assume it’s his description of the duskwort that’s missing, am I right?”
Sticky nodded.
“But why keep it a secret?” Kate asked. “If it’s so important —”
“Think about it,” Reynie said, looking grave. “Only a smidgen of this plant put an entire village to sleep. So what do you think would happen if it fell into the wrong hands? Like you said, Kate, this is one powerful plant. Nobody has ever wanted the wrong person to find it.”
“The Benedicts knew, though,” said Sticky. “And they only shared the information with their most trusted friend. Han sent them maps, by the way, but the maps aren’t here. I assume the Benedicts destroyed them, too.”
“Maps of what?” Kate asked.
“Of the island where Han found the duskwort. He sent one map that showed where the island was located and another of the island itself — including the exact location of the duskwort. He describes the island a bit in the letter, but he doesn’t name it or say anything that would pinpoint the place. Otherwise I’m sure the Benedicts would have cut that part out, too. The island could be anywhere in the world.”
“And Mr. Curtain wants to find out where it is,” Constance said. “And he thinks Mr. Benedict knows. Or at least that someone ‘extremely close’ to Mr. Benedict knows. Isn’t that what his letter said?”
“More or less,” Reynie said. “And you know what? Now that I think about it, Mr. Benedict really might know where it is. If he does, then the question is whether he made it to the island or not. We’ll have to see —”
“Reynie,” Kate interrupted, “how could Mr. Benedict possibly know where the island is? The maps are gone!”
Reynie was about to explain when the library door opened and the bald, bandaged man they’d seen in the courtyard entered the room. The man glanced at them without interest and went to the librarian’s desk, where he engaged in a murmured conversation with Sophie. Suddenly he whipped his head around to stare at them with bulbous eyes. He hastened to their table, followed by an anxious Sophie.
“I am Mr. Schuyler,” the man said in curt English. “And who, may I ask, are you?”
“Students,” Sophie said, coming up. “They are exchange students, Mr. Schuyler.”
Mr. Schuyler gestured with his pipe toward the journal and the letters. “Why are you looking at these?”
“They heard about the trouble,” Sophie interjected. “They were simply curious. They are children, Mr. Schuyler.”
Mr. Schuyler seemed to consider this declaration with suspicion. At length, however, he grunted, gnawed on the stem of his pipe, and said, “I suppose I can tell you a few things, then. It is a rather interesting story.” He pulled out a chair, forcing Sophie to step back to avoid having her knees knocked, and sat heavily in it. “Where shall I begin?”
“How about the beginning?” Reynie said.
“Ah. The beginning is very troubling,” said Mr. Schuyler. “You see, these papers legally belong to our library, but an American man — the son of the papers’ original owners — argues that he has claim to them. I had told him he is free to pursue the matter in court, and if the court decides in his favor, he shall have the papers. In fact, I have no doubt the court will decide in his favor. But until that decision has been made, the papers must remain in the library! That is simply the way of it.
“This man, however, comes to the desk one morning and asks to see these papers. It is a free and public library, so of course he is given the permission to do so. Afterward he tells me who he is and asks if I have ever seen him before. I tell him I have not, which is true. Sometimes he uses a wheelchair, he says. Has nobody in the library noticed him before? I assure him that I have not, and Sophie assures him that she has not, either. Do you agree this is what happened, Sophie?”
Sophie opened her mouth to speak.
Mr. Schuyler went on, “Yes, that is what happened. And when we finally convince him that he is not so famous as he believes, he and his companion — a sort of yellow-colored woman with red hair who reminded me of a pencil — do you not think that is a clever comparison, Sophie? That she looked like a pencil? I believe I said so at the time — What was I saying? Oh yes. He and his companion left. But five minutes later I receive a phone call from him, and he tells me that he only took what was rightfully his. That is all he says, and he hangs up.
“Perhaps you do not know what he meant, children, but I did,” said Mr. Schuyler. “I went straight to the journal and the papers, and I immediately discovered that he has taken two documents that were among the letters, and he has cut out a piece of one page! He has stolen and damaged library property!”
Reynie absorbed these details with keen attention, for Mr. Schuyler had just confirmed what Reynie had suspected. Mr. Benedict did know where the island was. It was he — and not his parents — who had removed the two maps. He also had cut out the part missing from Han’s letter. Mr. Benedict’s parents had hidden these documents in a secret location, after all. They probably hadn’t thought it necessary to destroy the sensitive information contained in them.