into the light
Oct. 8th, 2013 09:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
psifi872Working title: Into the Light
Pairing: Erik/Raoul/Christine threesome
Rating: R
Crossover with Sherlock Holmes
Work in Progress
Paris, 1883
Christine de Chagny watched the blood drain from her husband's face. A letter that had arrived with the morning post was clenched in his fist.
"Raoul? My love, what's wrong?" she asked gently.
"I'm being blackmailed," Raoul informed her, his voice flat with shock.
"Blackmailed? How? By whom?"
Raoul shook his head, beginning to pace. "I...they don't identify themselves. They say...when the Opera travels to London, we are to smuggle a certain man with us...hide him anyway we can. If not..."
"If not, what? What could they possibly blackmail *you* with, Raoul?"
"They'll...make public certain events from my navy days...a letter that I wrote and had thought destroyed," Raoul admitted, not wanting to give details, not sure how his young bride would react to this truth.
"Are you going to make me drag it from you? Raoul, surely you trust me enough to tell me," Christine persisted.
Raoul took a deep breath. He had never kept secrets from Christine. After the events surrounding their engagement, they were close enough to make secrets both ludicrous and uncomfortable.
"I...had an affair, while in the navy. I wrote...very revealing letters, with my lover's assurance that they would be read and destroyed. Evidently, my lover kept at least one...passages from it are quoted in here."
"I see," Christine stated with forced calm. She knew her husband loved her and was faithful to her...she would not be jealous of a past mistress. "Who was she?"
Raoul took a deep breath, then replied in a low voice, "My lover was Anton de Leroy, another lieutenant in the navy."
Christine's jaw literally dropped, then a wicked giggle escaped her throat. Raoul spun, startled by her reaction.
"Christine, this isn't funny!"
"No, I know it isn't!" she assured him, smothering her laughter. "Oh, Raoul, it was very reckless of you to write, no matter what assurances he made to you!"
"I know," Raoul sighed, then questioned hesitantly, "You don't think less of me?"
His wife came over and kissed him with tender passion.
"Never, my love. I adore you. Do they say who they want us to smuggle?"
"No and it doesn't matter," Raoul responded his voice firming with resolve. "I will not be blackmailed. Damn them to hell if they think they can manipulate me this way!"
"Be careful, my love," Christine implored.
"I shall, darling. Christine...if the contents of this letter are made public, we might have to leave Paris, perhaps permanently."
"You are my home and my life, Raoul. I can sing anywhere."
"Thank you, my love."
The maid entered, curtsying respectfully.
"Vicomte, there are two English gentleman in the foyer. They wish to speak with you," she said, handing him a card.
Raoul read the card, his eyes widening. He cleared his throat, nodding. "Yes, send them in."
"Who is it, Raoul?" Christine asked, worried.
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," Raoul informed her.
A few moments later, Raoul and his wife joined their guests in the parlor.
"Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny, I am Sherlock Holmes! This is my associate, Dr. Watson," a tall, thin gentleman with a noble brow and strong nose introduced himself and his companion.
"A pleasure, sir, madam," the doctor offered politely.
"Welcome to my home, gentlemen," Raoul greeted. "This is a pleasant surprise. My wife and I are very fond of reading of your exploits."
Holmes nodded, cooly, "Sadly, we come on very serious business, Vicomte. I am currently in the employ of a Lieutenant de Leroy of the French navy. You know of him?"
Raoul nodded, "I do, sir. We served together."
"I have been employed by Mr. de Leroy to recover a certain letter that you wrote to him. Would you mind answering a few questions?"
"Very well," Raoul sighed, sitting down. He noticed the doctor looking uncomfortably at Christine and smiled sadly. "I don't keep secrets from my wife, gentlemen. She knows."
"Good enough!" Holmes stated briskly. "Now. Who knew of the affair between yourself and de Leroy?"
"No one that I knew of," Raoul responded. "I thought it was long buried. I take it Anton is being blackmailed, too?"
"He is, sir," Holmes acknowledged.
Raoul silently handed Holmes the letter he had received. Holmes perused it quickly before handing it to Watson.
"This is a very dark business, sir. I can help you, but I will require your full cooperation."
"I intend to refuse, sir!" Raoul informed him stubbornly.
"Naturally, we don't intend to allow them to succeed in their goal," Holmes assured him. "Still, if you insist, I will work your refusal into my own plans."
"What do they want of Anton?"
Holmes smiled, seeming almost amused.
"They want him to have a duplicate made of a key that they will be sending him. He is then to leave both keys in a spot to be revealed later."
"A key," Raoul repeated, feeling confused.
"Indeed, sir. I think you will find that there is at least one other victim in this affair," Holmes predicted.
"I don't know what else to tell you, monsieur," Raoul told him. "I know nothing more of this business than what you hold in your hand. I haven't seen Anton for years."
"Very well, Vicomte. We will be staying at the Hotel de Paris, should you need you to get in touch. Good day."
Raoul walked past the empty stage. He had finished his business with the Opera manager and it was now late. Christine had returned home hours ago and his steps echoed in the theater. A hard blow to the back of his head sent him staggering and then cool metal pressed menancingly against his throat.
"I wouldn't move, monsieur," a rough voice sneered. "Blades are tricky. You just listen. You want to do what you're told, right? We got a friend needing to be in London and you're going to help him get there, you and that fairy friend of yours. If not, we'll ruin you...or worse, savvy?"
"Go to hell," Raoul hissed.
He was spun around and a hard fist smashed into his jaw. Raoul landed on his back, with a heavy weight over him.
"Y'know, technically, we don't really need you at all, de Chagny. You don't follow orders, we'll just take you out and get that pretty wife of yours..."
The thug's last words were cut off by a rope that landed neatly around his neck and was pulled tight. A figure in black clothes and a long cloak appeared from nowhere and hissed in the villain's ear.
"Tell your master that the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny are under the protection of the Opera Ghost. If anything happens to them, I will have vengeance!"
Raoul watched the thug turn pale with superstitious dread and almost laughed. He got warily to his feet as the Phantom released his prey and the cowardly thug ran as hard as he could for the exit. Raoul rubbed the back of his head, feeling a goose egg raising.
"Thank you," he offered, not completely able to hide his surprise at the rescue.
"What do you expect?" the Phantom asked wearily. "You are precious to her and she is precious to me. I won't have you prey to such scum. What do they want with you?"
"They want us to smuggle a man to London, when the theater performs there," Raoul told him, honestly.
"MY theater?" the Phantom repeated, angrily. "I will not allow my company to be endangered or used!"
Raoul hesitated, then warned him, "There's something you should know. I'm not the only one being blackmailed. An old...friend of mine, Anton de Leroy has employed Sherlock Holmes to look into this matter."
The Phantom stood looking at him, as if waiting for him to continue. Raoul blinked.
"Well, he *does* have a habit of ferreting out secrets. If you make yourself known to him..."
"You speak as if I should know him," the Phantom replied, dark humor lacing his rich voice.
"You...Sherlock Holmes, the English detective! You must have heard of him!"
"Must I?" the Phantom inquired, a bit of acid creeping into his tone.
"Don't you read the papers?" Raoul asked, surprised.
"No," the Phantom retorted. "I have no wish to read of the petty cruelties and idiocies that those of your society inflict on each other. I read books, nothing more."
Raoul nodded, a bit sadly. "I do understand, monsieur. I think you would like reading of Monsieur Holmes' exploits, though. He is considered a genius in his own right. He is said to have brought the science of logic and deduction to an art form."
The Phantom shrugged, "Well. I thank you for the warning. I shall be on my guard."
"May I ask you something?"
The Phantom hesitated, then shrugged with apparent unconcern.
"What is your name?"
Dark eyes fixed hotly on him.
"Why would you ask me that?" the Phantom asked harshly.
"I didn't mean to pry, sir," Raoul said politely.
The Phantom stared at him, his gaze unreadable, then answered, "My name is Erik. I don't know my paternal name. I chose not to remember it."
A flash of cape and the Phantom, Erik, was gone, back into hiding.
Raoul entered his house with relief. Christine met him at the door, kissing him sweetly.
"Raoul, you'll never believe what I found in town today! The bookstores are selling bound copies of Dr. Watson's stories! Real books of them! I bought two copies my...Raoul, what happened?" she cried, noticing the dark bruise on her husband's face.
"It's an interesting coincidence, Christine. I was just discussing Monsieur Holmes," Raoul informed her, telling her in detail of the attack and his rescue.
"His name is Erik," Christine repeated softly. "I...I never knew his name."
"I'm sorry. Darling, have I upset you?"
"I care for him, Raoul. I love you so much, but I've never completely freed myself of what I shared with him! I'm sorry."
"Don't be, my love," Raoul soothed. "He was your mentor and, yes, your friend. Why wouldn't you care for him? I admit, I was...impressed by his actions tonight."
Christine smiled lovingly, "You have such a generous heart, Raoul."
"Will you be generous and give me one of your books?" Raoul challenged playfully.
"Oh! I don't know about that!" Christine objected, backing away.
"Christine," Raoul cajoled, stalking slowly towards her.
"Raoul," she countered, smirking, lifting her skirts.
Raoul quickened his pace and Christine turned, fleeing up the stairs to their room, laughing.
Anton de Leroy paced his parlor nervously. Holmes sat near by, watching the man with impatience.
"Monsieur de Leroy, please, be calm! You have nothing to fear. You will follow the instructions of the latest letter and pick up the key you are to copy tonight. You will then give the key to me. I will have a copy made and we will wait for further instructions. Nothing could be easier!"
"It is easy for you to say, Monsieur," Leroy responded. "It is not your reputation, standing in society, and perhaps your very life that is in danger."
"That is hardly fair," Watson protested. "Holmes has risked his life for justice and truth many times in the past. He will not fail you!"
"Thank you, Watson," Holmes acknowledged, amused.
"I'm sorry," Leroy apologized. "This is a bitter business for me gentleman. If I had destroyed that damned letter..."
"Well, it's too late to regret that now," Holmes dismissed coldly. "Now, it is time for you to leave. We will meet you back here in the morning."
Leroy gathered up his coat, giving a short bow to his guests before leaving. He walked slowly to the public park named in the letter and found the fountain.
"Well, monsieurs. I am here as ordered," he called out in a low voice, trying to keep his tone firm.
"Shut your trap, fool," a rough voice snarled from the shadows.
Something heavy wrapped in a cloth landed at de Leroy's feet.
"There. You get a copy of that made and stay alert. In two days time, you'll receive further instructions."
Leroy found himself grabbed roughly and a sharp knife pressed to his throat.
"We know you've hired the Great Detective," the man sneered. "Keep him out of it. You obey you get to go back to your poncy rich life. Give the key to Holmes, play games, you'll end up dead," he instructed, then paused oddly, then chuckled. "Huh, no ghost looking out for *you* I guess!"
A rough shove and the rustle of clothes announced the villain's departure. Leroy straightened his coat and took a deep breath, rubbing his neck. He walked home briskly, eyeing the shadows and retired to troubled sleep.
Leroy sat picking at his breakfast, when the maid admitted Holmes and Watson.
"Will you join me, gentleman? The food actually is quite good," Leroy offered bitterly.
"Tell us what happened last night, Monsieur," Watson offered, soothingly.
"They know you are here," Leroy informed them. "They threatened to kill me."
"Tell me in detail everything they said!" Holmes demanded.
Leroy obeyed, managing to quote his contact almost word for word.
"Ghost?" Watson asked, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"I do not know, doctor. I did not ask. He let just after that."
"That is interesting," Holmes mused. "Will you give me the key, Monsieur?"
Leroy hesitated, but gave the key to Holmes. "My life is now literally in your hands, sir."
Holmes bowed, acknowledging the responsibility.
Erik used a trap door to enter box five. From here, he had a splendid view of his theater and not merely the stage. He watched as his people combined rehearsals with the necessity of packing. They were due in London in three weeks. Sitting down, he immediately stood back up and stared at his seat in surprise. Laying on his chair was a square object wrapped in green paper. A note was attached. The Phantom frowned, wondering who had dared enter his space. He tore the note open.
Dear Monsieur Erik,
You stated in our last conversation that you only read books. By coincidence, I learned that some of Dr. Watson's fine tales have been issued in book form. You'll find enclosed a book containing his first adventure and one or two others. I hope they amuse you. I think Holmes is a man you could respect.
Yours sincerely,
Raoul de Chagny
Erik opened the package and found, indeed, a book. He weighed it in his hand, then sat down to read.
Pairing: Erik/Raoul/Christine threesome
Rating: R
Crossover with Sherlock Holmes
Work in Progress
Paris, 1883
Christine de Chagny watched the blood drain from her husband's face. A letter that had arrived with the morning post was clenched in his fist.
"Raoul? My love, what's wrong?" she asked gently.
"I'm being blackmailed," Raoul informed her, his voice flat with shock.
"Blackmailed? How? By whom?"
Raoul shook his head, beginning to pace. "I...they don't identify themselves. They say...when the Opera travels to London, we are to smuggle a certain man with us...hide him anyway we can. If not..."
"If not, what? What could they possibly blackmail *you* with, Raoul?"
"They'll...make public certain events from my navy days...a letter that I wrote and had thought destroyed," Raoul admitted, not wanting to give details, not sure how his young bride would react to this truth.
"Are you going to make me drag it from you? Raoul, surely you trust me enough to tell me," Christine persisted.
Raoul took a deep breath. He had never kept secrets from Christine. After the events surrounding their engagement, they were close enough to make secrets both ludicrous and uncomfortable.
"I...had an affair, while in the navy. I wrote...very revealing letters, with my lover's assurance that they would be read and destroyed. Evidently, my lover kept at least one...passages from it are quoted in here."
"I see," Christine stated with forced calm. She knew her husband loved her and was faithful to her...she would not be jealous of a past mistress. "Who was she?"
Raoul took a deep breath, then replied in a low voice, "My lover was Anton de Leroy, another lieutenant in the navy."
Christine's jaw literally dropped, then a wicked giggle escaped her throat. Raoul spun, startled by her reaction.
"Christine, this isn't funny!"
"No, I know it isn't!" she assured him, smothering her laughter. "Oh, Raoul, it was very reckless of you to write, no matter what assurances he made to you!"
"I know," Raoul sighed, then questioned hesitantly, "You don't think less of me?"
His wife came over and kissed him with tender passion.
"Never, my love. I adore you. Do they say who they want us to smuggle?"
"No and it doesn't matter," Raoul responded his voice firming with resolve. "I will not be blackmailed. Damn them to hell if they think they can manipulate me this way!"
"Be careful, my love," Christine implored.
"I shall, darling. Christine...if the contents of this letter are made public, we might have to leave Paris, perhaps permanently."
"You are my home and my life, Raoul. I can sing anywhere."
"Thank you, my love."
The maid entered, curtsying respectfully.
"Vicomte, there are two English gentleman in the foyer. They wish to speak with you," she said, handing him a card.
Raoul read the card, his eyes widening. He cleared his throat, nodding. "Yes, send them in."
"Who is it, Raoul?" Christine asked, worried.
"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson," Raoul informed her.
A few moments later, Raoul and his wife joined their guests in the parlor.
"Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny, I am Sherlock Holmes! This is my associate, Dr. Watson," a tall, thin gentleman with a noble brow and strong nose introduced himself and his companion.
"A pleasure, sir, madam," the doctor offered politely.
"Welcome to my home, gentlemen," Raoul greeted. "This is a pleasant surprise. My wife and I are very fond of reading of your exploits."
Holmes nodded, cooly, "Sadly, we come on very serious business, Vicomte. I am currently in the employ of a Lieutenant de Leroy of the French navy. You know of him?"
Raoul nodded, "I do, sir. We served together."
"I have been employed by Mr. de Leroy to recover a certain letter that you wrote to him. Would you mind answering a few questions?"
"Very well," Raoul sighed, sitting down. He noticed the doctor looking uncomfortably at Christine and smiled sadly. "I don't keep secrets from my wife, gentlemen. She knows."
"Good enough!" Holmes stated briskly. "Now. Who knew of the affair between yourself and de Leroy?"
"No one that I knew of," Raoul responded. "I thought it was long buried. I take it Anton is being blackmailed, too?"
"He is, sir," Holmes acknowledged.
Raoul silently handed Holmes the letter he had received. Holmes perused it quickly before handing it to Watson.
"This is a very dark business, sir. I can help you, but I will require your full cooperation."
"I intend to refuse, sir!" Raoul informed him stubbornly.
"Naturally, we don't intend to allow them to succeed in their goal," Holmes assured him. "Still, if you insist, I will work your refusal into my own plans."
"What do they want of Anton?"
Holmes smiled, seeming almost amused.
"They want him to have a duplicate made of a key that they will be sending him. He is then to leave both keys in a spot to be revealed later."
"A key," Raoul repeated, feeling confused.
"Indeed, sir. I think you will find that there is at least one other victim in this affair," Holmes predicted.
"I don't know what else to tell you, monsieur," Raoul told him. "I know nothing more of this business than what you hold in your hand. I haven't seen Anton for years."
"Very well, Vicomte. We will be staying at the Hotel de Paris, should you need you to get in touch. Good day."
Raoul walked past the empty stage. He had finished his business with the Opera manager and it was now late. Christine had returned home hours ago and his steps echoed in the theater. A hard blow to the back of his head sent him staggering and then cool metal pressed menancingly against his throat.
"I wouldn't move, monsieur," a rough voice sneered. "Blades are tricky. You just listen. You want to do what you're told, right? We got a friend needing to be in London and you're going to help him get there, you and that fairy friend of yours. If not, we'll ruin you...or worse, savvy?"
"Go to hell," Raoul hissed.
He was spun around and a hard fist smashed into his jaw. Raoul landed on his back, with a heavy weight over him.
"Y'know, technically, we don't really need you at all, de Chagny. You don't follow orders, we'll just take you out and get that pretty wife of yours..."
The thug's last words were cut off by a rope that landed neatly around his neck and was pulled tight. A figure in black clothes and a long cloak appeared from nowhere and hissed in the villain's ear.
"Tell your master that the Vicomte and Vicomtess de Chagny are under the protection of the Opera Ghost. If anything happens to them, I will have vengeance!"
Raoul watched the thug turn pale with superstitious dread and almost laughed. He got warily to his feet as the Phantom released his prey and the cowardly thug ran as hard as he could for the exit. Raoul rubbed the back of his head, feeling a goose egg raising.
"Thank you," he offered, not completely able to hide his surprise at the rescue.
"What do you expect?" the Phantom asked wearily. "You are precious to her and she is precious to me. I won't have you prey to such scum. What do they want with you?"
"They want us to smuggle a man to London, when the theater performs there," Raoul told him, honestly.
"MY theater?" the Phantom repeated, angrily. "I will not allow my company to be endangered or used!"
Raoul hesitated, then warned him, "There's something you should know. I'm not the only one being blackmailed. An old...friend of mine, Anton de Leroy has employed Sherlock Holmes to look into this matter."
The Phantom stood looking at him, as if waiting for him to continue. Raoul blinked.
"Well, he *does* have a habit of ferreting out secrets. If you make yourself known to him..."
"You speak as if I should know him," the Phantom replied, dark humor lacing his rich voice.
"You...Sherlock Holmes, the English detective! You must have heard of him!"
"Must I?" the Phantom inquired, a bit of acid creeping into his tone.
"Don't you read the papers?" Raoul asked, surprised.
"No," the Phantom retorted. "I have no wish to read of the petty cruelties and idiocies that those of your society inflict on each other. I read books, nothing more."
Raoul nodded, a bit sadly. "I do understand, monsieur. I think you would like reading of Monsieur Holmes' exploits, though. He is considered a genius in his own right. He is said to have brought the science of logic and deduction to an art form."
The Phantom shrugged, "Well. I thank you for the warning. I shall be on my guard."
"May I ask you something?"
The Phantom hesitated, then shrugged with apparent unconcern.
"What is your name?"
Dark eyes fixed hotly on him.
"Why would you ask me that?" the Phantom asked harshly.
"I didn't mean to pry, sir," Raoul said politely.
The Phantom stared at him, his gaze unreadable, then answered, "My name is Erik. I don't know my paternal name. I chose not to remember it."
A flash of cape and the Phantom, Erik, was gone, back into hiding.
Raoul entered his house with relief. Christine met him at the door, kissing him sweetly.
"Raoul, you'll never believe what I found in town today! The bookstores are selling bound copies of Dr. Watson's stories! Real books of them! I bought two copies my...Raoul, what happened?" she cried, noticing the dark bruise on her husband's face.
"It's an interesting coincidence, Christine. I was just discussing Monsieur Holmes," Raoul informed her, telling her in detail of the attack and his rescue.
"His name is Erik," Christine repeated softly. "I...I never knew his name."
"I'm sorry. Darling, have I upset you?"
"I care for him, Raoul. I love you so much, but I've never completely freed myself of what I shared with him! I'm sorry."
"Don't be, my love," Raoul soothed. "He was your mentor and, yes, your friend. Why wouldn't you care for him? I admit, I was...impressed by his actions tonight."
Christine smiled lovingly, "You have such a generous heart, Raoul."
"Will you be generous and give me one of your books?" Raoul challenged playfully.
"Oh! I don't know about that!" Christine objected, backing away.
"Christine," Raoul cajoled, stalking slowly towards her.
"Raoul," she countered, smirking, lifting her skirts.
Raoul quickened his pace and Christine turned, fleeing up the stairs to their room, laughing.
Anton de Leroy paced his parlor nervously. Holmes sat near by, watching the man with impatience.
"Monsieur de Leroy, please, be calm! You have nothing to fear. You will follow the instructions of the latest letter and pick up the key you are to copy tonight. You will then give the key to me. I will have a copy made and we will wait for further instructions. Nothing could be easier!"
"It is easy for you to say, Monsieur," Leroy responded. "It is not your reputation, standing in society, and perhaps your very life that is in danger."
"That is hardly fair," Watson protested. "Holmes has risked his life for justice and truth many times in the past. He will not fail you!"
"Thank you, Watson," Holmes acknowledged, amused.
"I'm sorry," Leroy apologized. "This is a bitter business for me gentleman. If I had destroyed that damned letter..."
"Well, it's too late to regret that now," Holmes dismissed coldly. "Now, it is time for you to leave. We will meet you back here in the morning."
Leroy gathered up his coat, giving a short bow to his guests before leaving. He walked slowly to the public park named in the letter and found the fountain.
"Well, monsieurs. I am here as ordered," he called out in a low voice, trying to keep his tone firm.
"Shut your trap, fool," a rough voice snarled from the shadows.
Something heavy wrapped in a cloth landed at de Leroy's feet.
"There. You get a copy of that made and stay alert. In two days time, you'll receive further instructions."
Leroy found himself grabbed roughly and a sharp knife pressed to his throat.
"We know you've hired the Great Detective," the man sneered. "Keep him out of it. You obey you get to go back to your poncy rich life. Give the key to Holmes, play games, you'll end up dead," he instructed, then paused oddly, then chuckled. "Huh, no ghost looking out for *you* I guess!"
A rough shove and the rustle of clothes announced the villain's departure. Leroy straightened his coat and took a deep breath, rubbing his neck. He walked home briskly, eyeing the shadows and retired to troubled sleep.
Leroy sat picking at his breakfast, when the maid admitted Holmes and Watson.
"Will you join me, gentleman? The food actually is quite good," Leroy offered bitterly.
"Tell us what happened last night, Monsieur," Watson offered, soothingly.
"They know you are here," Leroy informed them. "They threatened to kill me."
"Tell me in detail everything they said!" Holmes demanded.
Leroy obeyed, managing to quote his contact almost word for word.
"Ghost?" Watson asked, puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"I do not know, doctor. I did not ask. He let just after that."
"That is interesting," Holmes mused. "Will you give me the key, Monsieur?"
Leroy hesitated, but gave the key to Holmes. "My life is now literally in your hands, sir."
Holmes bowed, acknowledging the responsibility.
Erik used a trap door to enter box five. From here, he had a splendid view of his theater and not merely the stage. He watched as his people combined rehearsals with the necessity of packing. They were due in London in three weeks. Sitting down, he immediately stood back up and stared at his seat in surprise. Laying on his chair was a square object wrapped in green paper. A note was attached. The Phantom frowned, wondering who had dared enter his space. He tore the note open.
Dear Monsieur Erik,
You stated in our last conversation that you only read books. By coincidence, I learned that some of Dr. Watson's fine tales have been issued in book form. You'll find enclosed a book containing his first adventure and one or two others. I hope they amuse you. I think Holmes is a man you could respect.
Yours sincerely,
Raoul de Chagny
Erik opened the package and found, indeed, a book. He weighed it in his hand, then sat down to read.
