Chapter 4.

The rest of Reinhardt's morning was first spent at the telegraph station where he sent a message for Henry to try his best to take an earlier train to arrive in London. He then returned home and began to examine several reports on the murders that Cunningham allowed him to take with him. It took a half-hour for Reinhardt to realize that he recognized the bookstore of the third man that was murdered. A little less than twenty minutes later Reinhardt stood outside "Old and Golden Books." The store sat in the middle of same street stores that littered the road leading to Scotland Yard. It was made entirely of red bricks that had turned brown with grime and time. The wooden sign barely hung on its hinges. Reinhardt walked up to the glass front door and peered in. It was lit on the inside but he could not see anyone. Finally a head popped up from below Reinhardt's view and met him eye to eye.

"Can I help you?" The young man said in a voice muffled from behind the glass door.

"My name is Reinhardt Schneider. I have some questions about Sean Golden."

"Are you from the papers?"

"No."

There was a pause. After a moment, the man unlocked the door and swung it wide open for him to enter. Reinhardt saw him lock it behind him after he entered. Looking at the young man, he guessed he was around twenty years old. Probably the same age as Carrie, he thought.

The young man had bags under his eyes as though he had not slept for many days. His hair was black as ink and his face very pale. He looked as though he had put powder on his face. The young man looked around and placed some books he had under his arm on a nearby table. Finally he extended his hand. "Matthew Golden. Sean Golden was my father." Reinhardt took his hand and realized when letting go that the young fellow had ink on his hands. Matthew slapped his forehead and apologized. He quickly ran somewhere behind Reinhardt to look for a napkin. While he did so Reinhardt look around the store. The bookstore looked like a normal library and was arranged as such. Eventually Reinhardt drifted in one of the more hidden aisles noticed that a set of bookcases all the way in the back were behind a glass door under lock and key. Dust did not permit Reinhardt to read the spines of the books. To Matthew's surprise, Reinhardt turned around the instant he was coming up behind him to give him his napkin. Reinhardt took it in his hand and tried to use it but looked at the poor young man regrettably.

"All dry already. Thank you anyway."

Matthew smiled and stood leaning on one of the bookcase almost uselessly. Reinhardt peered into his eyes and wondered whether he had the same look when his own father died. "What about these books?"

"My father's private collection. I apologize about before. It took me a moment, but I recognized your name. I know who you are. My father told me all about you, or at least your ancestors."

"My ancestors?"

"Yes." Matthew looked at Reinhardt confusedly. "You are Belmont, are you not? Or at least descended from them."

"How did your father know about us?"

"My father had a taste for all kinds of history. Mystic history included. The Belmont family of vampire hunters is renowned in certain circles. But it is not a name you will find in any normal history book. You are famous…." Matthew paused as if he had chosen his words incorrectly. "In certain circles," he finally added. "The books in that room are under lock and key. They were only for certain customers and always to be delivered personally."

"Was Ian Graves a customer of your father's?"

The question seemed to derail the young man's thoughts. He stumbled as he spoke. "Um, yes, I recall the name. I believe he was a regular customer, until…"

Reinhardt interrupted him before he could say more. The question had been born of a small curiosity anyway. The idea that members of his family had come under scrutiny of recluses like Graves and Golden alarmed Reinhardt. But it was time to pursue the matter for which he had come. "Matthew, why do you think your father was murdered?"

"I don't know why. The other two men had nothing to do with father; they were a banker and a man who sold land and property. My father did not trust banks and did not own anything except what you see here. Yes, they did go to the same gentlemen's club but they were rarely sociable. My father preferred the intellectuals of the club rather than the socialites."

"Pardon me for asking, but how did your father become a part of the club?"

"He was once the lead historian at one of England's premier libraries. Then my father became somewhat obsessed with all things arcane." Reinhardt pulled the test tube with the hair from his vest pocket. "Can you identify this hair?"

"I am afraid that my father was the expert, not I."

Reinhardt returned the tube to his vest and nodded. He thanked Matthew and made his way to the door. Matthew followed and hesitated for a moment to open the door. "I want to help. Any way I can. I just…don't know anything."

He placed a hand on his shoulder. "This matter is for me and the police. Leave it to us. I may come back with some more questions." Reinhardt stepped out and called a coach to take him home. From inside the store Matthew watched him slowly disappear into the distance.