The shadow at the archive door appeared at half past eleven.
Eli had been aware for some time that he was being watched — not with any dramatic evidence of surveillance, but in the way that an archivist who spent long hours in a basement room develops a sensitivity to disturbances in the usual acoustic pattern of a building. Footsteps on the floor above, which were normal, had acquired a new quality over the past three evenings: lighter, more careful, pausing above the section of the reading room that directly overlapped Room 404's ceiling.
He had mentioned this to no one. He had, however, moved the document box to a different location in the archive and left the original alcove empty with its panel closed.
At half past eleven, the door to the archive corridor opened.
Marrow, who had been asleep on the daybed, raised his head.
The figure who entered the corridor was a man of approximately sixty, wearing a coat and carrying a document bag. He moved with the confidence of someone who had been in this building before and knew the layout. He walked directly to the door of Room 404 and tried the handle.
It was locked.
Eli was on the other side of the door, standing in the dark with his back to the wall and his hand on his telephone.
The man stood at the door for a moment. Then he knocked twice — two businesslike raps — and said, in a quiet, measured voice: "Mr. Vane. I represent the Harbor Mist Historical Society. I am not here to take anything. I am here to make you an offer."
Marrow crossed the room silently and sat at the base of the door.
Eli said nothing.
"The record," the man continued, "is of significant historical value. The Society is prepared to make a substantial donation to this library's preservation fund in exchange for its quiet return. We are not your enemies, Mr. Vane. We are simply people who understand that some documents cause more harm than good when they enter public circulation."
Eli thought about the seven names on page 212. He thought about the sentence Emmeline Vane had written: These are people. They should be known.
He unlocked the door.
The man looked at him, then at Marrow, then at the room behind them.
"Where is it?" he said.
"It's already been photographed," Eli replied. "Every page. The photographs are in three separate locations."
The man looked at him for another moment, then nodded slowly and left.
Eli locked the door again and sat down at his worktable. His hands were steady.
Marrow jumped onto the table and pressed his forehead against Eli's chin, very briefly.
He waited until the man's footsteps had faded from the corridor before he switched on the archive's supplementary lighting — the fluorescent strips along the upper wall that the building's electrician had installed in 1982 and that made the room feel uncomfortably clinical when used, but which provided enough light to work by without shadows.
He photographed the document box in its new location. He photographed the alcove behind the wainscoting. He made a written record of the evening's events, including the exact time of the knock, the exact words used, and his own response. He dated and signed the record and placed it in a sealed envelope.
Then he telephoned the city archivist at her home number, which he had been given that morning. She answered on the third ring. He told her what had happened. She said she would notify the appropriate authorities and that he should not be alone in the building overnight.
The library's head of security, who lived three streets away, arrived within twenty minutes. He was a taciturn man named Davies who had worked in the building for sixteen years and appeared entirely unsurprised by being called to the basement archive at midnight.
He produced a flask of tea from his coat pocket, poured a cup for Eli, and settled himself in the archive's one spare chair with the calm competence of a professional who had waited through difficult nights before and knew the most efficient way to do it.
Marrow sat on the document box in its new location for the remainder of the night, a position he maintained without deviation until the morning shift arrived.
Eli wrote up his deposition notes and drank the tea.
The night passed without further incident. The basement archive remained quiet until the morning shift arrived at eight o'clock.