I strode over to the door, about six feet away, but whoever was listening to our conversation had disappeared. I walked down the hall and around by the stairs, but I still didn’t see anyone. Nor did I hear anything other than the muted sound of street traffic.

Melba and Diesel had followed me out of the staff lounge.

“That was peculiar.” Melba frowned. “And kind of creepy.”

“It was definitely odd.”

“I’m going back to my office and keep an eye on the door.” Melba stepped past me, smiling uneasily. “Don’t turn your back on anyone.”

I picked up Diesel’s leash. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

I waited until Melba disappeared into the director’s office suite. “Come on, boy. Let’s go upstairs.”

Before I unlocked the door of the archive office, I checked inside the storeroom. Nothing seemed to have been disturbed. I shut the door and examined the lock. It looked sturdy enough, like the one on the office door.

The eleven boxes in the office hadn’t been touched, as far as I could tell. Diesel started sniffing around them again, and I had to push him gently away in order to uncover the unnumbered box. When I pulled it free, I restacked the three cartons that had been on top of it before picking it up and setting it on my desk.

Diesel hopped on top of the middle tier of boxes and watched while I cut open the box. After I pulled out the wads of paper used for packing material, I found several smaller boxes and trays of computer disks and even a couple of thumb drives. The disks probably contained the texts of Godfrey’s books and perhaps some of his correspondence.

I wondered why the box hadn’t been numbered. Perhaps this box hadn’t been intended for inclusion in Godfrey’s archive.

The master inventory in box number one ought to answer that question. I moved around my desk to check. The box I wanted was underneath the one Diesel was sitting on. I moved him aside to the sound of annoyed chirping.

I extracted box one and set in on the floor. I retrieved my scissors from the desk and cut open the box. Right on top, under more packing material, lay a small report folder labeled “Inventory.”

Back at my desk, folder in hand, I sat down and began skimming through it while Diesel played with the discarded packing material on the floor.

Calling these few sheets of paper a master inventory was a gross overstatement. Each box was listed, but there was little detail of the contents. Godfrey’s assistant had merely listed categories, like fan letters, business letters, reviews, awards, newspaper clippings, contracts, review copies, books in English, books in other languages, convention programs, and speeches. Nowhere in the inventory did the words disk or diskette appear.