Jones finally deciphered a code hidden throughout the manuscript.
For three sleepless nights the manuscript lay open across the long oak table inside the National Library's temporary investigation room. Every visible line had already been translated. Every hidden message revealed by ultraviolet light had been copied. Yet Jones remained convinced that the manuscript concealed one final layer of meaning.
Martin watched him pace slowly around the room.
"You've read the same pages dozens of times."
Jones nodded.
"And every time I read them, they tell me something different."
Inspector Roy leaned against the window.
"We know Dr. Sen hid the missing page somewhere in the library."
"Yes."
"We know the murderer never found it."
"Yes."
Roy folded his arms.
"So what are we missing?"
Jones stopped beside the manuscript.
"We've been reading the words."
He gently turned another page.
"When we should have been reading the spaces."
Martin frowned.
"The spaces?"
Jones pointed to tiny decorative Ashvattha symbols scattered throughout the manuscript's margins.
"They aren't decorations."
"They're markers."
Martin leaned closer.
"I counted them."
"So did I."
"They don't repeat regularly."
Jones smiled.
"They aren't meant to."
He took out a sheet of paper filled with numbers copied from the manuscript.
Each hidden symbol corresponded to a page.
Each page contained a letter concealed within the invisible writing.
Individually they meant nothing.
Together...
Martin slowly arranged the letters in the order Jones instructed.
The sentence appeared almost magically.
THE WORLD HOLDS THE TRUTH.
Roy looked puzzled.
"A globe?"
Jones nodded.
"The library's old globe."
Martin's eyes widened.
"The one in the Heritage Reading Hall."
"The seventeenth-century globe."
Jones closed the manuscript carefully.
"I believe Dr. Sen wanted us to find it."
The Heritage Reading Hall had been closed since the investigation began.
Dust floated through pale shafts of morning sunlight as the three investigators entered.
The enormous globe stood near the western wall inside a carved wooden stand.
Visitors admired it every day.
Nobody suspected it held a secret.
Jones examined it carefully.
"There."
Martin followed his finger.
A tiny Ashvattha tree had been engraved almost invisibly near the Indian Ocean.
"I've never noticed that."
"It wasn't meant to be noticed."
Jones pressed gently against the engraving.
Nothing happened.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
Then he rotated the globe slowly.
A soft click echoed inside.
A concealed panel sprang open.
Martin stared in disbelief.
"A hollow compartment."
Inside rested a carefully folded sheet of yellowed parchment wrapped inside waxed cloth.
Untouched.
Protected.
The missing final page.
For several seconds nobody moved.
Jones carefully lifted the bundle.
"So Dr. Sen really did hide it."
Roy exhaled quietly.
"And the murderer never found it."
Jones slowly unfolded the protective wrapping.
The paper was remarkably well preserved.
Ancient handwriting covered both sides.
Beneath it, however, lay newer annotations written in Dr. Sen's unmistakable handwriting.
"He was studying it," Martin whispered.
Jones nodded.
"He intended someone else to finish his work."
He carefully unfolded the page.
The first lines appeared to be ordinary historical notes.
Then...
A metallic click echoed through the silent hall.
Very close.
Behind them.
Martin froze.
Jones did not turn immediately.
He already knew what the sound was.
A revolver being cocked.
"Please," a calm voice said.
"Do not move."
Slowly, Jones turned.
A man stepped from behind one of the towering bookcases.
Well dressed.
Calm.
Perfectly composed.
Professor Samar Chatterjee.
Martin stared.
"You..."
The professor smiled politely.
"I'm afraid you've found something that belongs to me."
Roy instinctively reached toward his coat.
"Don't."
Samar raised the revolver slightly.
"I wouldn't recommend it."
Roy stopped.
Jones studied the man quietly.
"I wondered when we'd finally meet."
Samar smiled.
"We've met before."
Martin frowned.
"What?"
"I attended several academic meetings during Dr. Sen's research."
He looked almost amused.
"You simply never noticed me."
Jones nodded slowly.
"Because you were never on the official access list."
"No."
"I used forged credentials."
Martin's expression hardened.
"So you were the mysterious R. Mukherjee."
"One of several names."
Samar admitted it without hesitation.
"The library's security depended upon paperwork."
He smiled faintly.
"Paper can be remarkably accommodating."
Jones continued watching him.
"Why reveal yourself now?"
"Because you've found the only thing I still need."
His eyes settled on the missing page.
"The investigation has reached its conclusion."
Jones shook his head.
"No."
"It has merely reached yours."
For the first time, Samar's smile faded.
"You've already figured it out."
Jones folded the page carefully but did not lower it.
"Dr. Sen discovered far more than ancient history."
"He discovered you."
Silence.
Martin looked between the two men.
Jones continued.
"The final page doesn't preserve the teachings of the Order."
"It preserves its records."
Samar gave a slow nod.
"Continue."
Jones unfolded the page enough to read the first few lines.
Names.
Dates.
Financial transactions.
Hidden donations.
Forged ownership records.
Academic appointments manipulated over decades.
Influential patrons.
Government officials.
Businessmen.
The Order of Ashvattha had survived by quietly placing loyal members in positions of influence.
Not through violence.
Through control.
Dr. Sen had uncovered everything.
Martin stared at the page.
"This proves it."
Jones nodded.
"It documents decades of theft, fraud, and manipulation."
Samar spoke almost proudly.
"Generations."
"The Order preserved knowledge."
"No."
Jones corrected him.
"It preserved power."
Samar laughed softly.
"A distinction historians enjoy making."
Roy looked furious.
"You murdered Dr. Sen."
"I protected something much older than one man's life."
Martin stepped forward.
"You killed him because he learned the truth."
"I killed him because he intended to publish it."
The confession hung heavily in the room.
Jones looked directly into Samar's eyes.
"The locked-room mystery."
Samar smiled again.
"My favorite part."
Martin looked confused.
"The lamp."
"The broken capsule."
"The staged vault break-in."
Jones nodded slowly.
"All distractions."
Samar inclined his head.
"I spent weeks creating false leads."
"The lamp was installed solely to attract attention."
"The hidden compartment."
"The broken glass."
"The forged maintenance order."
Roy stared.
"You wanted us investigating the ceiling."
"Instead of the book."
Jones looked down at the manuscript.
"It was never airborne poison."
"No."
"It never entered the room after Dr. Sen."
Samar's expression revealed genuine admiration.
"You solved it."
Martin frowned.
"Then how?"
Jones looked toward the old bookmark resting inside the manuscript.
"The bookmark."
Samar smiled.
"Exactly."
He continued calmly, almost as though lecturing a classroom.
"I prepared a highly purified aconitine extract."
"A remarkable compound."
"I combined it with the same stabilizing chemical used for invisible ink."
Jones nodded.
"The blue residue."
"Precisely."
Martin listened in stunned silence.
Samar continued.
"I coated the edge of the bookmark with an almost invisible layer."
"Dr. Sen handled it repeatedly while studying."
"He instinctively moistened his fingertips to separate the fragile pages."
"The toxin transferred gradually."
Jones completed the explanation.
"And later entered his body when he touched his lips."
Samar smiled approvingly.
"No weapon."
"No visitor."
"No struggle."
"Simply habit."
Martin whispered,
"Ingenious."
Jones nodded grimly.
"And deadly."
Roy clenched his fists.
"You poisoned Vikram too."
"He began asking dangerous questions."
"And Riya?"
"I merely encouraged your investigation to notice convenient evidence."
Jones looked steadily at Samar.
"You framed her."
"For a while."
"And then Meera."
Samar shrugged.
"Investigators require suspects."
"The more obvious they appear..."
"...the less they search elsewhere."
Jones finally understood every planted clue.
The forged access records.
The poison vial.
The chemistry degree.
The hidden chamber.
The false evidence had never been intended to survive close examination.
Only long enough to redirect the investigation.
Samar extended his free hand.
"The page."
Jones remained motionless.
"No."
The professor sighed.
"I had hoped we might avoid unpleasantness."
Martin shifted slightly.
Samar noticed immediately.
"I wouldn't."
His revolver never wavered.
Jones quietly folded the page and slipped it inside his coat.
"It doesn't matter if you destroy it now."
Samar's eyes narrowed.
"Why?"
"Because I've already read enough."
Roy smiled faintly.
"And so have we."
For the first time, uncertainty crossed Samar's face.
It lasted only a second.
Then, somewhere beyond the reading hall, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed through the corridor.
Police officers.
Samar heard them too.
His expression changed instantly.
The calm professor disappeared.
The desperate fugitive remained.
Without another word, he stepped backward toward a concealed doorway behind one of the old bookcases.
Martin shouted,
"He's escaping!"
Samar smiled one last time.
"You've solved the mystery, Professor Jones."
He disappeared into the darkness beyond the hidden passage.
Roy immediately drew his revolver.
"After him!"
Jones looked once at the folded page safely inside his coat.
Then toward the dark tunnel.
The mystery of Dr. Arvind Sen's murder had finally been solved.
But the case itself was not yet over.
Because the man who had spent years hiding behind forged identities and centuries of secrets was now running through the underground passages beneath the National Library.
And if Samar Chatterjee escaped...
The Order of Ashvattha might disappear with him once again.