The Fall: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 2) by Annelie Wendeberg

must have noticed my hesitation and I was relieved he did not approach and hand me the book directly. Goff was not quite that dull.
    ‘Oh,’ I said timidly.
    ‘Excellent! We’ve just received a copy of The Select Works of Antony van Leeuwenhoek . It was delivered yesterday and I was about to put it on the shelf just now. If you wish, you could be the first to read it.’ He patted the large volume on his desk.

    One of van Leeuwenhoek’s many illustrations, 1700. (6)

    ‘That is very thoughtful and kind of you, Mister… oh I am so sorry, I do not even know your name,’ I said, taking two steps forward and offering my hand, ‘Anna Kronberg.’
    ‘George Pleasant, at your service,’ he answered with a small bow.
    ‘Thank you, Mr Pleasant,’ I said softly, letting my eyes dart to Goff and back at the man facing me, hoping he would understand.
    He did. ‘Ma’am, let me put this book where it belongs; you may read it whenever you find the time,’ he said, pushing past us.  
    I turned to Goff and raised my eyebrows, as though not quite understanding what the man had wanted. Goff shrugged and we made our way to our preferred desks.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw the librarian shelving the book in the section for illustrated science literature.

    I spent the following hours reading every recent report on vaccine development to be found. Pasteur’s anthrax vaccines were made for cattle, goats, and sheep. There were none for humans. I found nothing that would protect against glanders, either. All the while I was trying to decide whether or not it was wise to trust Mr Pleasant. He was a stranger. Overwhelming was my desire to peek into the man’s heart and mind to insure he was uninfluenced by Moriarty. Putting my own life at risk was acceptable, but leaving my father’s life at stake was an entirely different matter. Torn between the danger of being betrayed and the danger of never being able to contact Holmes, the zeal for action got the better of me.
    Goff had grown tired by now, and his attention was not as sharp as it had been earlier in the morning. Gradually, the library emptied. I walked along the aisles as though searching for something in particular, then passed the illustrated science section, stuck my hand into a shelf and pulled out Leeuwenhoek’s book. It had one dog ear. How much pain must it have caused Mr Pleasant to mar one of his books? I quickly slipped my hand between the pages, found a small note, and hid it inside my sleeve. The place where it touched my skin prickled with excitement.
    I walked along the shelves, one eye on Goff who appeared to be oblivious to the sudden heat in the room, and my attempts to calm myself. Grateful he was not as observant as Moriarty, I picked up a journal and sat down at the desk again. When Goff begun to pick at his nails, I jotted down a few words on my already crowded note pad. From his position, he could not see that note pad’s surface and it was there I flattened out Mr Pleasant’s message. He had written only three words: I can help . I turned it around and wrote my answer on the back: Please advertise in The Times : Small golden wedding band found in the lavatory of London Medical School. To be picked up at Tottenham Court Road 11b, Miss Caitrin Mae.
    I slipped the note back into my sleeve, scribbled a bit more, read a bit more, and then made another round through the aisles. Only a minute later, the note was safely hidden in the dog eared book.
    As Goff and I left, I gave the librarian a single nod and another timid smile, hoping to convey the immense gratitude I felt.

    I was relieved to have something to busy myself with. How else could I have kept my sanity that night? I was tormented by fears of being discovered, of having misunderstood the librarian’s message, or that he could be Moriarty’s. And the most silly fear of all, that Holmes would not understand the message. So I sat at the door, listening to the movements of men and mice. Slowly,