Free Bland Beginning by Julian Symons

typefounders who had the trade to themselves. By thorough investigation of their practice, I have been able to establish certain interesting facts. The most important concerns the queer case of the kerned ‘f’.
    “The what?” Anthony asked.
    Miss Cleverley’s face was puckered with amusement. “Remember that you’re not lecturing to an audience of typographers, Arthur. Do you need to go into all these technical details?”
    “I suppose not,” Jebb said reluctantly. “Well – to put it simply, Mr Shelton, different type faces (what we call ‘old style’) were used in the nineteenth century from the faces (which could be called ‘modern style’) used today. There are particular differences in some letters, and one of them is the ‘f’. The letter ‘f’ in your copy of Passion and Repentance is printed in a form which did not exist in 1860, and which in fact was not used until the eighteen-eighties. In other words,” said Jebb, who had again reached a crescendo of excitement, “this book on the table, sir, is a forgery.”
    Anthony passed his hand across his forehead. It was slightly damp. “But a few minutes ago you said it was only a matter of suspicion.”
    “True, true.” The cripple looked remorseful. “Excitement is carrying me away. I should have told you that I am convinced, Mr Shelton, of all the things I am telling you. I have yet to convince other book-collectors. If you went to see any bookseller, or so-called book expert, and told them what I am telling you, they would think it a garbled story, because the evidence to support it is here.” He tapped his large forehead. “Until my book is published, your copy of Passion and Repentance will be accepted as genuine.” His fingers touched the little book again, with something like a caress. “I am most grateful to you for permitting me to examine this book. I have been interested in it for a long time, but very few copies are extant and I have not been able to obtain one for testing. My enquiries have been fruitless, both to so-called experts and to the family. James Cobb and Blackburn both wrote me rude letters, and Martin’s son was courteous but unhelpful.” He pondered again. “There is one curious point about your book. All of the forgeries I have discovered – which are still circulating as genuine first editions – were the works of one printer, using one particular fount of type. Passion and Repentance is set in a different type. It is still a modern type, and still in my opinion a forgery, but it is a curious circumstance.”
    There was silence. Anthony sat looking round the quiet, hot room in a kind of daze. Miss Cleverly watched him with quizzical amusement. Jebb took up his magnifying glass and pored over Passion and Repentance. He spoke again.
    “There is also, of course, the test of paper. Before 1861 the raw material used for the manufacture of paper was rags. In that year esparto grass was introduced from Spain and Northern Africa, and used successfully, and in 1874 paper containing chemical wood was used. Paper tests are difficult to apply – differences are sometimes minute – and it is because they are complicated that I should like to borrow this copy of your book. Since it is dated 1860, it should, as you realise, be a rag paper. There will be a further strong presumption of forgery if it should prove to contain esparto grass or chemical wood.”
    Anthony seemed not to be attending. “What do you advise me to do?” he asked, and the cripple was taken aback.
    “Do?”
    “If what you say is right, I’m a hundred guineas out of pocket. My father will be furious.”
    Jebb’s high-pitched laugh was not soothing. “I am very sorry to hear that. But you are not quite correct in your statement. Say rather that you will be a hundred guineas out of pocket in two or three years’ time, when my book is published. In the meantime you have a marketable commodity. You can always accept Lewis’ offer.”
    “But that