Jean pulled a Swiss Army knife out of her desk drawer and sliced into the package, peeling away layers of tape, cardboard, and bubble wrap until a thick old book and an envelope bearing a return address in Munich lay on her desk. She read Ingrid Weiss’s letter and then turned to the book. It was volume 83 of a German mathematical publication called Mathematische Annalen, and according to Weiss, it had belonged to her grandfather. She opened the book, shook her head in confusion, then crossed to a tall bookcase. Scanning the shelves, her eyes fell on five identical volumes—volumes her grandfather had sent to her great-aunt Marta after Marta had moved to America. Aside from a few photographs, those books were the only evidence Jean had that her grandfather had walked the earth before perishing in Dachau. Five volumes of Mathematische Annalen. Volumes 82–86. She pulled the second volume out just to be sure. Opening to the title page she saw the words in German: volume 83. It was thoughtful of Ingrid Weiss to send her her grandfather’s copy of this old volume of mathematical papers, but Jean already had it.

She had a class starting in five minutes, and after that a committee meeting and then her regular thrice-weekly twenty laps at the university pool. Then one thing led to another and she forgot all about the book until she was cleaning off her desk a few days later in preparation for a student conference. After she had met with Chuck Campbell for an hour, she picked up the two books and headed across campus to the library. She hadn’t seen Arthur Prescott, who, when he wasn’t teaching English, could always be found in the rare books room, in a couple of weeks so she updated him on the latest additions to her collection of antique art books as they sat at the wide oak table in the center of the Devereaux Room, then pulled the two nearly identical books out of her bag.

“A duplicate to donate to the library?” said Arthur, examining the two volumes.

“Once I answer some questions,” said Jean. “For instance, why did my grandfather have two copies of the same book?”

“Or did he have two copies of the same book?” said Arthur.

“Exactly,” said Jean. “This Ingrid Weiss says she returns books stolen by Nazis to their rightful owners.”

“But you don’t think this one is rightfully yours?”

“It might be, but it’s awfully odd. I have five volumes of my grandfather’s books, and they all have his signature in the upper right corner of the front endpaper. This book,” she said, opening the volume from Weiss, “doesn’t have a signature, just a gift inscription. ‘To Emil Hochberg, from his great admirer and colleague Hans Schüber, University of Freiburg, 1921.’ ”

“Your German is impressive,” said Arthur.

“An odd volume of a mathematical journal seems a strange gift,” said Jean.