The Wanderer in Unknown Realms Read Online Free Page B

on furniture both built for that purpose and constructed for other ends entirely. There were bookshelves in the main hallway, in the downstairs rooms, and in the upstairs rooms. There were even bookshelves in the bathroom and the kitchen. There were so many volumes that, had it been possible to extract the skeleton of the house, its walls and floors, its bricks and mortar, and leave the contents intact, then the shape of the building would still have been visible to the observer but constructed entirely from books. I had never seen anything like it. Even the reading rooms of the British Library itself seemed to pale beside it. Standing among all those books it was possible to believe that there was no other space in the world so crammed with manifestations of the printed word than Lionel Maulding’s home.
    As I walked through the house, Mrs. Gissing at my heels, I examined the titles. I found books on every subject and in everymajor language. Some were so large that special tables had been made to hold them, and to move them safely would have required two men. Others were so small that they were kept in display cases, a magnifying glass lying nearby so that the microscopic print within could be made readable.
    â€œAstonishing,” I said.
    â€œEvery day more arrive,” said Mrs. Gissing. “I’ve left the new ones in the library for Mr. Maulding’s return.”
    For the first time, she showed some sign of distress. Her voice caught, and her eyes grew moist.
    â€œYou will find him, sir, won’t you? You will bring him back safely to his books?”
    I told her I would try. I asked if the grounds had been searched, and she told me that they had: the groundsman, Mr. Ted Willox, knew the property intimately. He and his sons were the only other people in the village aware of Lionel Maulding’s disappearance. Willox had engaged his sons to help him search Maulding’s land, and they had gone over it, every inch. They had found no trace of the master of the house.
    Willox was away that day, visiting a sister who was ill, but was due to return to Maidensmere the following morning. I told Mrs. Gissing to send him to me as soon as he arrived. I was, I confess, surprised at the loyalty of Gissing and Willox to Maulding, and their willingness to protect his privacy even as they feared for his safety. Mrs. Gissing seemed to sense this, for as she showed me to my room, she spoke once more.
    â€œMr. Maulding is a good and kind man. I just want you to know that, sir. He’s always been generous to me. My boys, my lovely boys, they’re buried in the cemetery here, and I get to speak to them every day. There are always fresh flowers for them, no matter the season, and the weeds are kept at bay. Mr. Maulding arranged that, sir. He spoke to the generals in London, and they brought my boys home for me, each of them in turn. I’ve never wanted foranything, Mr. Willox neither. All Mr. Maulding asks in return is for his meals to be prepared, his clothes to be cleaned, and his bed to be made, and otherwise to be left in peace with his books. There is no harm to the man, and no harm should come to him.”
    I wanted to tell her that such was not the way of the world until I remembered that she had buried two sons and was thus more conscious of the world’s true workings than any of us. Our arrival at my room saved me from uttering any further foolishness, and she left me to unpack the small bag I had brought with me and to explore my environs alone. Next door to my room was a bathroom with a fine claw-toed bathtub. I could not recall when last I had enjoyed a bath that didn’t involve a tin tub, and saucepans of water with which to fill it, and I promised myself the luxury of a lengthy immersion that evening.
    None of the rooms had been kept locked. As Mrs. Gissing had intimated, most were being used for storage, and the only items that Lionel Maulding desired to store were books. I began to