The librarian is a pleasing young man. He explains to Sherlock there are no records of book and borrowers 30 years ago. "Actually, books were not allowed taken out of library at that time, so…" Under Sherlock's gazing pressure, he looks at me with a helpless smile. "Sorry."

"The book club…" Sherlock seems going to explode. "Where does the symposium take place? I need to see it."

"Sure, stack hall, up the stairs." Sherlock rushes to the stairs, leaving me to cope with librarian's curious look.

I shrug and say, "Sorry, he is always like that."

"I know. It's fine. Sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"The book club. You must come for the book club, right? But this Saturday we don't have symposium. In mourning of book club founders, you know, although I don't think that's the way they would like."

He motions me to the information bar where a black-and-white photograph of an elderly couple is displayed. I walk closer to read the introduction.

"Andrew Cliff & Eleanor Cliff. Founders and guiders of 32 years to book club."

"What happened to them?"

"Well, both dead." Getting my inquiry glance, he adds, "Mr. Cliff took sleeping pills, and Mrs. Cliff drowned in river."

"Suicides?" So that's why Sherlock is here.

"No, they are not that kind of people." He replies aloud as if getting offended. "I mean, well, yes because that's what policeman said. But no, I don't think so."

"So what do you think?" I can't help to inquiry.

He looks disturbed, "I don't know. You see, he was my high school teacher, and he was a good man, people say he had affairs. I know what it looked like, but he was the last one on earth who could get involved in things of that kind. I don't know what to believe."

"I understand. Sorry for them. Too many deaths, theirs, Robin Feller…"

"You know Robin Feller?" He interrupts me.

"No, not really, just heard of…"

"Then you must know those rumors."

"Yes, a little…"

"Robin Feller murdered Mr. and Mrs. Cliff." He pulls down his body, slowly says, eyes fixed on my face.

I can't believe what I hear. Should I get Sherlock down to hear this, or tape it?

"Really?"

He nods heavily. "People saw them together, Mr. Cliff was crying. He must be threatened by Robin Feller, and that's why he killed himself. Mrs. Cliff lost her minds for his death, that's why she slipped into the river. That's murder. Robin Feller must plan to run away, you know, no one would come to search for him in rain alarm."

I swallow all these words slowly. "So the sleeping pills. I thought it was an accident."

"No," The young man says impatiently. "How can you not understand? Mr. Cliff never took pills. He was a good sleeper, no burden in mind. The pills were Mrs. Cliff's. Family Insomnia or something. "

"Well, yes." I decide to change a topic. "So the book club, right? Symposium in the stack hall, what's that like?"

"Discussion, reading, sharing ideas. You don't know it before?" He looks at me doubtfully.

"I…" My mouth is dry, "Won't that be a lot of noise, you know, disturbing other readers."

"That's a tradition. And, library is closed Saturday evening, only open for symposium." His voice is cold now. After these words, he sits back to his seat and continues the reading interrupted by Sherlock and me.

"Would you mind if I take a look at the stack hall?"

He doesn't reply.

I go up the stairs, remembering the old woman's suggestion. Should I tell Sherlock what I heard, an explanation that all fixes? I doubt if it's necessary, or if he has the patience.

When I enter the stack hall, Sherlock is busy examining furniture, barely raising his head. I walk to the middle of stack hall, there lies sofas and tables, apparently is a discussion place, warm, quiet, surrounded by books. I notice there is no light on ceilings. The symposium takes place at evening, the only light source would be separate lamps fixed at tables or floor-a dark environment for intimate discussion and musing. I find myself imagining the scene of Mr. and Mrs. Cliff reading here, or me with Sarah?

Sherlock passes quickly in front of me, I follow him out.