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available wall space. Each was filled to overflowing. Volumes were stacked waist high on
    the floor, forming meandering paths. Heavy trunks, lids open to reveal more books and papers, were
    stationed on either side of the hearth.
    A portly man dressed in overly snug breeches and a faded maroon coat sat at a desk piled high with
    books. He was hunched over an aging volume. Candlelight illuminated his bald head and thick gray
    whiskers. He spoke without looking up from the page in front of him.
    "What is it, Mrs. Stiles? I told ye I was not to be bothered until I have finished translating this text."
    "The lady has come for her manuscript, sir." Mrs. Stiles did not seem perturbed by her master's gruff
    manner. "Brought a friend with her, she has. Shall I make tea?"
    "What's this? There's two of 'em?" Nash threw down his pen and surged to his feet. He turned toward
    the door and glowered at his visitors through a pair of silver-framed spectacles.
    "Good evening, Mr. Nash," Phoebe said politely as she stepped forward.
    Nash's scowling gaze was drawn briefly to Phoebe's left leg. He refrained from commenting on her limp,
    however. His already florid face turned a darker shade of red as he looked at Gabriel. "Here, now. I'm
    only sellin' the one manuscript tonight. How come there's two of ye?"
    "Do not concern yourself, Mr. Nash," Phoebe said soothingly. "This gentleman is with me merely
    because I did not like the thought of coming out alone at this hour."
    "Why not?" Nash glared ferociously at Gabriel. "No harm will come to ye in this neighborhood. Nothin'
    ever happens around this part of Sussex."
    "Yes, well, I am not as familiar with the local situation as you are," Phoebe murmured. "I am from
    London, if you will recall."
    "About the tea," Mrs. Stiles began firmly.
    "Never mind the damn tea," Nash growled. "They won't be stayin' long enough for it. Take yer-self off,
    Mrs. Stiles. I've got business to attend to."
    "Yes, sir." Mrs. Stiles disappeared.
    Gabriel's gaze was speculative as he surveyed the room full of books. "My compliments on your
    extensive library, Nash."
    "Thank you, sir." Nash's gaze followed Gabriel's. Pride gleamed briefly in his eyes. "Rather pleased with
    it, if I do say so."
    "You would not, by any chance, be in possession of a particular copy of Malory's Morte d'Arthur,
    would you?"
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
    "What copy?" Nash asked suspiciously.
    "A 1634 edition. Rather poor condition. Bound in red Moroccan leather. There is an inscription on the
    flyleaf that begins 'To my son.' "
    Nash frowned. "No. Mine is an earlier edition. Excellent condition."
    "I see." Gabriel looked at him. "Then we had best be getting on with our business."
    "Certainly." Nash opened a desk drawer. "I expect ye'll be wantin' to see the thing afore you take it
    away, won't ye?"
    "If you don't mind." Phoebe cast a swift glance at Gabriel.
    He had picked up a fat book from a nearby table, but he put it down at once when he saw Nash lifting a
    wooden box out of the desk drawer.
    Nash lifted the lid off the box and reverently removed the volume inside. The gold on the edges of the
    vellum sparkled in the candlelight. Gabriel's eyes gleamed a very brilliant shade of green.
    Phoebe almost smiled in spite of her new fears. She knew exactly how he felt. A familiar rush of
    excitement shot through her as Nash placed the manuscript on the desk and carefully opened the thick
    leather covers to reveal the first page.
    "Oh, my goodness," Phoebe whispered. All of her immediate concerns about the wisdom of asking
    Gabriel's assistance in her quest faded as she looked at the magnificent manuscript.
    She moved closer to get a better view of the four miniatures placed together on the top half of the page.
    An intricate ivy-leaf border surrounded the ancient illustrations. Even from this distance the illuminations
    glowed like rare jewels.
    "It's a beauty, right enough," Nash said with a