§ § § -- April 28-29, 1984
It was just past midnight when Roarke finally returned to the main house -- having been waylaid by a non-fantasizing vacationer who needed Roarke's help in making arrangements to return home immediately due to a family emergency -- and found Leslie sitting at his desk, studying as if for a final college exam. He stopped in the middle of the floor and stared at her in surprise for about ten seconds before inquiring, "Leslie, what are you doing?"
Her head snapped up and she gawked at him, then instantly relaxed. "Oh, hi, Mr. Roarke," she said. "I'm working on something for Janine Andrulaitis."
"Are you indeed?" responded Roarke, approaching the desk and rounding it to take a look at the object of her intense scrutiny. "I see. And where did you get the manuscript?"
"It was sitting right here on top of your desk," Leslie told him. "I didn't go into any drawers, honest. I had an idea and I thought it was worth pursuing."
Roarke looked thoughtfully at her, then at the book and manuscript. "What idea would that be?"
"I was talking with Frida and Julie at the luau, and we saw Miss Andrulaitis there," Leslie explained, and told him the story. "After she said that about editors cutting out stuff that writers would have left in, I thought it was possible that something like that could've happened on a larger scale. So I brought the book back here and started comparing it to the manuscript she sent us. Who knows what might have been changed in the published version?"
Roarke's dark eyes grew warm with surprised approval. "Shrewd thinking indeed, my daughter," he said and squeezed her shoulder; then he decided to test her a little further. "Now, to precisely what purpose is this not-so-little task directed?"
She sat back in the chair and arched her back inward to ease the ache it had acquired from hunching over the desk. "Well, I thought about that guy who's crying plagiarism and how she told us she's never seen or heard of him in her life till now. I don't see any reason not to believe her. If he and his lawyer are so sure they can produce proof that Miss Andrulaitis supposedly copied part of his work, and if manuscripts can be changed, then it's just possible that this one was, just so they could swoop in and sue her. That's the theory I'm working on."
Roarke nodded. "Very good, Leslie. Excellent." She turned pink and smiled under his praise, and he smiled back. "I suggest that you get some sleep for now, however, so that you can be fresh and ready to continue in the morning. I called Mr. Grady Harding and requested that he and his client be here at one o'clock tomorrow afternoon, and asked the same of Miss Andrulaitis on my way back here this evening. So you have until then to validate your theory."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
By eight o'clock on Sunday morning, breakfast had long been in progress on the veranda. Lawrence charged onto the porch quite late, puffing a little, sporting dark circles under his eyes and looking somewhat rumpled. Roarke and Leslie stared at him curiously.
"Good morning, sir, miss," Lawrence managed, chugging to a stop beside the table.
"Good morning, Lawrence," Roarke replied, a little bemused. "It appears you didn't get very much sleep last night. Sit down and have some breakfast, at least."
Lawrence gratefully sank into the chair in front of the third place setting and sighed deeply. "Well, as a matter of fact, sir, it took me quite nearly the entire night, but I managed at last to convince him. I've been endeavoring to persuade him for at least two days now and he has been most reluctant, I'm sorry to say, but he finally agreed." Noting the confused expressions on both his companions, he cleared his throat, sat up a little straighter and announced with perceptible pride in his voice, "Sir, I'm happy to tell you that I've found your new assistant."
Leslie stared at him in amazement, and even Roarke was clearly surprised. "Well, Lawrence, I thank you," he said after a moment. "When will he be here?"
"Mid-week," Lawrence replied. "He's a great, great friend of mine, sir, and his name is Adam O'Cearlach. A very fine chap, and I'm certain he'll fit in perfectly."
Leslie eyed him doubtfully. "How do you figure that?"
"Oh, he has quite a bit of experience with unusual phenomena," Lawrence said, serving himself generously from the assorted dishes on the table. "He should have no problem at all settling into the position. I thought, sir, that he could work with me for the next several weekends until I leave for Cornwall, and I would show him the ropes."
Roarke's expression grew stern. "Lawrence, you seem to be forgetting one small thing," he said. "I have yet to even meet this man, let alone approve him for the job." Lawrence froze where he sat and turned scarlet. "I have no objection to your 'showing him the ropes' and helping him 'settle into the position', as you say...but all that depends on whether I decide to hire him. I appreciate your enthusiasm; but I suggest you rein it in until I have met your Adam O'Cearlach and evaluated his suitability for the job."
Lawrence folded his hands in his lap and looked contrite. "I apologize, sir," he said humbly. "It's only that I wanted to be certain you had the best possible assistant before I left."
Leslie remembered the previous day's conversation between herself, Julie and Lawrence, and a grin slowly grew on her features. "He has the best of intentions, Mr. Roarke," she offered on Lawrence's behalf. "He wants a clear conscience about leaving you so suddenly."
Lawrence gave Leslie a supremely dirty look, which had little effect on her, and shifted in his chair, beginning to fill his plate again. "As much as I hate to admit it, sir," he said reluctantly, "she is correct. But I truly do believe that Adam will fit in well here, and I think you'll find it so as well."
Roarke relented with a slight smile. "Perhaps so," he said. "I shall reserve judgment until then. But I very much appreciate your efforts, Lawrence, and I must admit I'm quite impressed that you found someone so quickly. I look forward to meeting this Adam O'Cearlach. In the meantime, I recommend that both of you eat well. We have a busy day before us."
Leslie took in a last bite or two and pushed her chair back. "I'm done anyway," she said. "I'd better get back to that book. Excuse me, please." Roarke nodded; Lawrence, oblivious, dug into his plate as if he hadn't eaten in two weeks. Leslie got up and hurried back into the house, where she retrieved the book and manuscript from her bedroom and returned to Roarke's office. From there she stepped out onto the spacious flagstone patio that lay beyond the French doors, and took a seat at an outdoor table where she could go through the material undisturbed.
By twelve-thirty, Roarke had come out looking for her, his handsome features filled with concern. "Leslie, are you all right? You haven't left that table since you finished breakfast this morning."
She looked up and smiled. "I'm okay, Mr. Roarke. Mariki came out about nine-thirty or so and left me a pitcher of mango juice, and she went back to the kitchen a few minutes ago and told me she's going to bring me some lunch. And I take a break every couple hours and walk around the patio. So don't worry."
Roarke smiled. "It won't be much longer until our guests arrive for their appointment," he reminded her. "Have you found anything?"
"Well, I've gotten all the way to the last three chapters now," she said, "so if I find anything, that's where it'll be. So far the book and manuscript don't differ much. I'll let you know right away if I see something significant."
"Well enough," Roarke replied, satisfied. "I'll see about that lunch for you." He turned and left.
He had been gone less than a minute when Leslie sat up straight and stared in shock at the chapter she was reading. The first two paragraphs matched the manuscript; after that, the story in the book went in a completely different direction from how Janine had written it. Leslie began to skim over the pages, but she suspected that the book and manuscript would diverge more and more through the end of the book; and she was right. The final three chapters were not Janine Andrulaitis' work at all. She was shaking her head in disgust over the book's ending when Roarke returned with a tray.
"What's wrong?" he asked, setting the tray down on the table and taking a seat.
"I was right, Mr. Roarke," Leslie exclaimed. "It's the end of the book. Except for the first two paragraphs of Chapter 24, the last three chapters are totally different from what was in the manuscript! Remember at the end of Chapter 23 where Daisy decides to take the job in Africa, and the last three chapters tell about the experience she has that changes her whole outlook? Well, in the beginning of Chapter 24, she goes there all right, but then everything changes so that in the book, she meets a guy and gets married, and lives happily ever after and all that garbage." Roarke raised one eyebrow at this remark but did not comment. "Someone substituted their own work for what Miss Andrulaitis wrote, and ten to one it was that Henry Charles March."
Roarke smiled. "Very good work, my child." He extracted his gold pocket watch, checked it and tucked it back into place. "You have about twenty minutes for lunch. Once you are finished, bring the book and manuscript inside, and we'll wait for Miss Andrulaitis, Mr. Harding and Mr. March." He smiled, arose and brushed some of her long hair back over her shoulder. "But don't eat too fast. I wouldn't want my young detective to miss the chance to present her evidence because of a case of indigestion." They both laughed, and Leslie pulled the tray to her and began to eat with a sense of high anticipation.