“It’s not really on loan to Pretoria.” Susan gave another sheepish smile. “It’s actually coowned by the two libraries.”

“How does that work?” Rina asked.

“We just courier it over when it’s requested.”

“How’d it come to pass that the libraries coowned it?”

Susan seemed apprehensive. Rina waited her out. Finally, the librarian said, “Long ago each library had a copy. There are only around ten original copies left. It’s a very long story.”

McAdams smiled. “We’ve got time.”

Rina said, “I’d love to hear it.”

Susan checked her watch. “Very briefly, Pretoria had some financial difficulties. And Littleton, being the newest college here, didn’t have the largest of endowments. The book was given to Rayfield from Huntington Library because it was an art book and as sort of a welcome present. But Rayfield was still wanting for funds. This was years ago before the icons were stolen.” She rolled her eyes. “It was agreed that one of the books would be sold and the proceeds would be split between Pretoria and here. They couldn’t get away with that today!”

“Who bought the book that was sold?”

“The buyer was anonymous. But it was rumored that the book went overseas.”

“To Russia?” McAdams asked.

“Who knows, but that would be logical.” Susan’s eyes were outraged. “Let me check on the one copy we have left.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” McAdams’s phone vibrated and he checked the text. “It’s from the Loo.”

Rina grinned. “Since when did you start calling Peter the Loo?”

“It’s what Oliver calls him. I kinda like it. Anyway, they just finished up with Professor Gold and he and Oliver are on their way back. And Gold says hello.” McAdams stowed his phone. “I’m sure he doesn’t even know who I am.”

Rina looked him in the eye. “Where did all the arrogance go, Tyler? I miss it.”

He smiled. “Getting shot is a humbling experience. But fear not. I’m sure when I’m up and about I’ll be my old obnoxious self.”

“I’m sure Professor Gold does remember you.”

“I dunno, Rina, I was pretty forgettable . . . quiet, believe it or not. I was only in the PC because of my legacy of my grandfather. Not because of my charm.”

“PC? As in personal computer?”

McAdams laughed. “Porcellian Club . . . it’s a final club.”

“I . . . don’t know what that is, Tyler.”

“It’s like an exclusive fraternity. We don’t have a lot of Greek at Harvard, we have clubs instead. They’re also called eating clubs because meals are served. The Porcellian Club, better known to those who hate us, which is almost everyone, is sometimes called the Pig’s Club not because of its all-male members—although the appellation certainly fits—but because the club’s tradition is to roast a whole pig.”

“Not many Orthodox Jews in the mix?”