“There are two possibilities, as I see it,” said Arthur. “Either this book really did belong to your grandfather, or someone, for some reason, forged this inscription.”

“But how do I figure out which?”

“You want to know if this is a forgery? I’d take it to Ridgefield’s resident expert.”

Twenty minutes later, Jean stood on the front porch of a 1920s bungalow a few blocks from campus waiting for someone to answer the doorbell. She loved May in Ridgefield—the dogwoods and azaleas blazed in full bloom and the smell of freshly cut grass had returned to the tree-lined streets near the college for the first time in months. Jean eyed a pair of rocking chairs on the porch and was considering taking a book out of her bag and sitting down to read while waiting, when the door opened.

“Jean, how nice to see you,” said Liz Byerly, her English accent as delicious to Jean as the smell of the Ridgefield spring. “Sorry it took me so long to get to the door. Spring cleaning, you know.”

“I was hoping to catch Peter at home,” said Jean. “I have a question about forgery.”

“Oh, he’s down in the basement fiddling around with his old books,” said Liz, dusting her hands off on her jeans. “Come on in and we’ll see if we can roust him.”

Ten minutes later, in a basement room lined with bookcases, Jean stood with Peter Byerly by a table cluttered with books and papers. Peter looked a little like Sherlock Holmes with his neatly trimmed gray beard, tweed jacket, and a magnifying glass gripped in one hand as he leaned over the book Jean had received in the mail, examining the inscription. He was something of a legend in Ridgefield—a widower and heir to the Ridgefield family fortune who had made a magnificent bibliographical discovery many years ago and who offered his services free to the university rare books department during the six months of the year he and his second wife spent in Ridgefield. Jean had been lucky enough to catch him before they had departed for their cottage in the English countryside.

“I could do a chemical test on the ink,” said Peter, “but I feel pretty confident what the results would be. It’s not just that this ink is glossier than one would expect for a nearly hundred-year-old inscription. Look here on the half title—see how the foxing is seeping through the printing? Now look at the inscription. This ink is sitting on top of the foxing. This inscription was made after this was already an old book. The question is, why?”

“I can’t imagine why anyone would want to associate a book with my grandfather. He was a virtually unknown professor. It’s not like this inscription would add anything to the value of the book.”