Hudson sat back in his chair. “To be honest, I don’t know,” he answered.

“You don’t think you can prove your theory?” Helen suggested.

“Maybe,” Hudson admitted. “Mostly I’m just not sure that I care anymore if I do.” He looked into her face. “I’m not sure I ever did.”

“It would be an extraordinary find,” Helen said. “Even if it’s just a novel it would be a substantial addition to the canon.”

“Yes, it would,” Hudson agreed. “But if it’s just a novel, then it wouldn’t matter who found it, would it?” He raised one eyebrow and tried to adopt an air of mystery.

Helen returned the look. “No,” she said. “It wouldn’t.”

“For instance,” said Hudson, “it might have been found in a previously overlooked box of miscellanea.” This wasn’t far from the truth, he thought, and such a claim would be unlikely to meet with much suspicion. “And depending upon where that box was, this wouldn’t have to end up in, say, the archive at Stanford,” he added.

“That’s true,” Helen agreed.

“And if you can get Eleanor Mintz to admit that she destroyed what she thought was the only copy, that would answer the question of authenticity,” Hudson said, grinning.

Helen put her glasses on again. “We’re being very flippant about this,” she said. “Now tell me seriously, do you not want to be the one to discover this manuscript?”

Hudson looked to the right, where Paul was standing behind Helen Guerneyser’s desk, regarding the manuscript with a mixture of longing and despair. He turned his gaze to Hudson, pleading with him. Hudson looked at him for a long time, then nodded at Helen. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”

Helen gathered up the manuscript. “I’m looking forward to reading this,” she said.

“I’ll send you the original, of course,” Hudson said. “When I get back.”

“What are you going to do now?” asked Helen. “This was to be your dissertation, correct?”

“It was,” Hudson said. He searched for more to say and found that there was nothing. “I guess we’ll see,” he finished.

Helen stood. Hudson, following her lead, did the same. He reached out his hand. “Thank you,” he said as Helen took it.

Helen placed her free hand on top of their joined ones. “You’re the one who deserves the thanks,” she said. “I haven’t given you anything.”

He looked past her, searching for Paul’s ghost. It was gone. “Yes, you have,” he told Helen.