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  James sprang to his feet, trembling. He began to pace around the table, gripping his head with both hands and talking so fast that Marvin could barely keep up. “The Perry guy must have taken it! We have to tell my dad. We have to tell Christina and Denny. What if he comes back? What if he finds us here?”

  Suddenly, James reached down and plucked Marvin from the paper, positioning him snugly under his cuff. He looked around the room. Spying the phone on the desk, he rushed to it.

  “We’ll call my dad,” he said. “He’ll know what to do.” He punched the numbers and held the phone tightly against his cheek, waiting.

  After a minute, he groaned. “It’s not going through. He must be someplace where his cell phone doesn’t work.”

  Marvin tried to think what to do. But James didn’t hesitate. He punched in more numbers. “Hello? Um, New York City. Can I have the phone number for the Met? Yeah, the museum. No, wait! Not the recording, I need a real person. Yeah, that’s good. Thanks.” He wrote a number on the pad of paper on the desk, then dialed it. “Hi, uh, can you connect me to Christina Balcony’s office?”

  James’s voice exploded with excitement.

  “Denny! Denny, it’s me, James! I found the drawing! I found Fortitude!”

  Trapped

  Marvin froze. Denny! Don’t tell Denny, he wanted to scream.

  But of course James had no way of knowing that Denny was the thief. He was already babbling ecstatically into the phone. “No, really! I’m in somebody’s apartment, this guy Gordon Perry. The address is”—here James read from the crinkled label—“236 East 74th Street, Apartment 5D.”

  No! Don’t tell him! Marvin raced onto James’s hand.

  “It’s the real one. I know it is. I . . . I can’t explain on the phone. Can you get my dad?” There was a long pause.

  “Oh,” James said, “he is? Okay, but you’ll tell him, and Christina too? And can you please hurry? I don’t know when this guy might come back.”

  He hung up and looked down triumphantly at Marvin. “We did it!” he crowed, dancing around the table. “Dad and Christina weren’t there—they’d gone to look for me—but Denny’s going to find them and tell them, and then they’ll all come over here. Everything’s going to be fine!”

  Oh, no! Marvin slumped in despair. This was impossible. How could he make James understand that they were in terrible danger?

  Nobody knew they were here but Denny. And Denny, the real thief, was on his way to the apartment. He certainly wouldn’t tell Karl or Christina anything. Marvin trembled. What would he do with the drawings when he got here? More important, what would he do with James?

  James lifted his hand and peered at Marvin, tilting his head to one side. “What’s the matter, little guy? You don’t seem very happy.”

  Marvin took a deep breath, trying to shake off his hopelessness. He had to convince James to leave the apartment. And to take the drawings with him! But how?

  He crawled to the end of James’s finger and motioned with his front legs.

  “Where do you want to go now?” James asked, looking at him quizzically. “I think we should just wait till they all get here.”

  Marvin continued to gesture toward the briefcase.

  James walked doubtfully over to the closet and crouched on the floor, holding out his hand so Marvin could disembark. Marvin crawled straight to the part of the briefcase with the handle and latches, and waited there expectantly.

  “You want me to shut it again?” James asked.

  Marvin climbed onto one of the latches.

  “Why? Denny and Dad and Christina are on their way here. Can’t we let them do it?”

  Marvin tapped his front legs imperatively.

  James paused. “I’m scared I’ll wreck the drawing.” When Marvin didn’t budge, he sighed. “You can be really bossy, do you know that?” He fiddled with the packaging sheets. “But I guess you’ve been right about most things so far. And you did find the drawing.”

  He sighed again. “Okay, watch out.” Gently, he wrapped the paper sheets over Fortitude and, while Marvin clung to the latch, closed the briefcase.

  Marvin was about to jump off when he caught sight of something under the briefcase’s handle. Imprinted in the worn leather, faintly traced in gold. What was it?

  Letters, he realized. Three of them. Faded almost beyond recognition.

  Something stirred in a remote part of Marvin’s brain; something from the human world. Three letters on Mrs. Pompaday’s bathroom towels. Three letters on Mr. Pompaday’s silver cuff links. Three letters on the pen case that Karl gave James for his birthday. (“Look, your initials, so everyone will know it’s yours.”)

  Initials. Denny’s initials.

  Marvin went crazy. He leapt in the air, rolled over, waved all his legs, and spun in a mad circle. Here! Look, James! Now you’ll know!

  The letters were so faded and small that only a beetle would ever notice them. A beetle and a boy who always paid attention.

  “You’re doing it again,” James said in amazement. “Calm down! What’s wrong with you? Maybe you’re having a seizure, like Billy Dunwood did after he got hit by that baseball last summer.”

  Marvin crouched directly above the initials and pounded his front legs on the leather.

  “Oh,” James said. “Yeah, I see it. Somebody’s initials.” He bent over the briefcase and squinted. “So what? I can’t even read them. ‘D,’ something, ‘D.E.M.’ Is that what you wanted me to see? Why? Why do you care about that?”

  Marvin stayed right where he was, determined not to move until James made the connection. He continued to tap his front legs.

  “D.E.M. Okay. Who is that?” James asked him. “I guess it’s not Gordon Perry. But he could have borrowed somebody else’s briefcase. Or maybe this is the guy who helped him steal the drawing.”

  Marvin spun in a circle and waved his legs madly.

  “That’s it? This is the guy who helped him steal Fortitude? Okay, but I don’t know anybody with the initials—” James stopped. He squinted at the top of the briefcase, angling it toward him. “What’s this?” he asked, tracing his finger over a square insignia printed on the leather. Marvin saw it, too, on the top of the case, a small box with symbols inside it.

  “It’s letters too,” James said. “G-E-T-T-Y,” he read. “Getty. Wait, isn’t that Denny’s museum? Out in California?” His gray eyes widened.

  Turning to Marvin, he whispered, “What’s Denny’s last name again? Mac- something. MacGuffin.” He shook his head. “But why would he . . . He couldn’t have. He was the one who—”

  Please, Marvin begged silently. If there was such a thing as mind reading, he needed James to do it right now.

  James stopped again, then sucked in his breath. “Oh, my gosh! If it is Denny, he’s coming. . . . We have to get out of here!”

  Yes! Finally, he understood. Marvin leapt onto James’s outstretched hand and scooted under his jacket cuff. In a panic, James grabbed the handle of the briefcase and ran to the door of the apartment.

  They rushed into the hallway just as the elevator dinged.

  “What if it’s Denny?” James whispered, frantic. He whirled around. “We have to take the stairs. Where are they?”

  As the elevator doors began to open, he ran down the hall toward a broad metal door with a lit-up red sign over it.

  Hurry, Marvin thought, hurry!

  James pushed through the door into a narrow, bleak stairwell. He thudded down the first flight of stairs, the briefcase banging against his legs.

  “I hope he didn’t see us. I hope he didn’t see us,” he kept whispering to Marvin, like a magical incantation, as he rounded the corner and took the second flight of stairs two steps at a time. Marvin clung to the jacket cloth, bouncing helplessly against James’s wrist, craning to see if they were being followed.

  Finally, they came to the first floor and burst into the lobby.

  James raced across the entryway, heaved open the massive front door, an
d ran down the steps to the sidewalk. Outside, he paused only a moment, then took off down the street through the fast-falling snow.

  Reunion

  Marvin shrank back from the chill and scrambled farther underneath the jacket cuff, poking out just enough of his head to see. He was so exhausted from his prolonged bout of sign language that he could hardly think what to do next.

  Fortunately, James seemed filled with purpose. He yanked his hood over his head and told Marvin, “We have to call my dad. Maybe his cell phone is working now. It’d better be.”

  He trotted down the slippery sidewalk to a restaurant on the street corner. Inside, a hostess stood at the front desk with a sheaf of menus in her hand.

  “Um, excuse me,” James said shyly. “Could I . . . do you think I could . . .”

  The woman bent down, smiling. “What is it, honey? Where’s your mother? Are you meeting someone here?”

  James shook his head, blushing. “Could I use your phone? Please?”

  “Oh! Are you lost? Of course you can. Come back here.” She beckoned him behind the desk and lifted the receiver, pressing a button. “There, that’s the outside line. Do you know your phone number?”

  James nodded, biting his lip. Quickly, he dialed.

  Marvin heard his joyful exhalation, and felt a rush of relief.

  “Dad! Dad, it’s you.” There was a long pause on James’s end while Karl’s anxious exclamations cascaded through the phone line. “No, I’m okay, Dad. Everything’s okay. Sorry. Sorry, I—No, I’m not in the museum—Dad, listen—” Marvin heard James groan in frustration. “Dad, wait in Christina’s office. I’m coming right now, okay? Just wait there.” James plunked the phone back into its cradle and turned to the door.

  “Where are you going, honey?” the hostess asked. “Don’t you want to wait here?”

  “No, it’s okay,” James mumbled. “Thanks for letting me use the phone.” He awkwardly swung the briefcase aside as he reached for the door handle.

  “But—” she started to protest. Before she could stop him, James slipped out into the street.

  He ran the whole way to the museum, sneakers thudding against the wet pavement, Marvin clinging to his wrist. He stopped only for the walk signals at the end of each block. It was evening now, and the cottony gray sky had darkened, yielding to the deep blue of another winter night. The snow fell steadily, at first melting when it struck the ground, then gradually dusting and coating everything it touched. From his snug hiding place, Marvin watched this transformation with wide eyes. By the time they reached the museum, a veil of white shrouded the city, softening its edges, quieting its sounds, as welcome as a benediction.

  As soon as James walked through the front entrance of the museum, he was stopped by one of the security guards.

  “Wait right there, son,” the man said, clapping a beefy hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name?”

  “James Terik,” James answered nervously.

  “I thought it was you!” the guard boomed. “Your father is going to be mighty glad to see you. Security’s been combing the place. Good thing they told us what color jacket you were wearing.” He unhooked a radio transmitter from his belt and spoke into it. “Ed? I’ve got the Terik kid. Yeah, right here at the main entrance. They are? Okay, I’ll take him up.”

  He turned to James. “Your dad is upstairs in Ms. Balcony’s office. Let’s go. What have you got there?” He pointed to the briefcase.

  “Oh . . . just something for my dad,” James said quickly.

  When James walked through the door of Christina’s office, he was immediately engulfed in Karl’s tight embrace, and Christina rushed over to them.

  “James! James, where were you? You scared me, buddy! I thought something had happened to you.” Karl crouched down, gripping James’s shoulders. “You can’t go off like that. We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  Marvin, peeking out from under the jacket cuff, could see that Christina’s pretty face was pinched with worry. “Oh, James, I’m so glad you’re all right! We’ve lost too much today already.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” James said, burrowing into his father’s chest. “But it was something important. I—” He took a deep breath and stepped back, looking at both of them. “I found Fortitude.”

  “WHAT?” Christina and Karl spoke in unison, staring at him.

  “Here,” James said simply, holding up the briefcase. It dangled in the air, scuffed and innocuous. Nobody made a move to take it.

  “Look inside,” James said.

  Karl frowned, lifting the briefcase and setting it on the table. He unlatched and opened it, looking at the layers of protective paper.

  “What’s this?” he asked James. “Whose is it?”

  Christina’s brow furrowed. “It’s Denny’s . . . isn’t it? Where did you get this, James?”

  “Look,” James said again.

  It was Christina who moved forward now, lifting the protective wrapping. Suddenly, she stopped, her hand gripping the edge of the table.

  Marvin scrambled up James’s sleeve to his collar for a better view.

  “Karl,” Christina said.

  “What is it?”

  “You do it.”

  Karl removed the last sheet.

  “Oh, my God,” he said.

  Keep going, Marvin wanted to say. You’re about to see the four Virtues together for the first time in decades. Centuries maybe.

  But Karl needed no encouragement. Gently, with held breath, he removed the tiny drawing. He turned to Christina. “It’s the real one, isn’t it?”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off it. When she nodded, he removed the remaining packaging.

  “Oh, my God,” he said again. “Christina . . . Christina, it’s all of them.”

  Marvin saw Christina’s knees buckle, and Karl caught her elbow to keep her from falling.

  “How can that be?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

  “I don’t know,” Karl said, turning to James, who pressed against him, his face a blur of confusion. “But it is. Look.” He set the four drawings in a row on the table. “Fortitude. Temperance. Prudence. Justice.”

  “Oh!” Christina gasped.

  Karl kept his arm around her, holding her up. He looked at James for an answer.

  James, red-faced and wide-eyed, stared at the drawings. Marvin huddled under the jacket collar, afraid to move.

  Christina bent over the table, her eyes following each graceful line.

  “I can’t believe—” The words caught in her throat. “They’re all here!”

  The Thief of Virtue

  They gazed at Dürer’s four Virtues. Marvin felt again the thrill that had coursed through him when he first saw them in Denny’s study.

  Karl squinted at the miniature images. “Are you sure they’re the real ones?” he asked Christina. “The ones that were stolen?”

  Christina nodded, unable to speak. Her eyes moved from one figure to the next, stopping at the picture of Justice.

  “Look at it,” she said. “I thought I’d never see it again.”

  She walked along the edge of the table, holding her breath. “And Prudence! And Temperance! They’ve been missing for more than two years.”

  Together at last, the drawings had a pulsing energy that filled the room like music rising. Of course they were real, Marvin thought. There was no mistaking them.

  Christina turned to James. “How on earth . . . I don’t understand. How did you find them?”

  James bit his lip.

  “Where did you get this briefcase, James?” Karl asked quietly.

  James shifted from one foot to the other, his gray eyes anxious. “It was in an apartment,” he said finally. He took the crinkled label out of his jeans pocket and set it on the table.

  Christina picked it up, her brow furrowing. “This is Gordon Perry’s place.”

  James hesitated. “I think he’s the one who took the drawings.”

  “Now hold on—who’s G
ordon Perry?” Karl asked.

  “One of our curators,” Christina said. “But what do you mean, James? Gordon’s in Florence, helping with restoration work at the Uffizi. He’s been there for a month. Denny’s staying at his place.”

  James chewed his bottom lip, watching her.

  “Where is Denny?” Karl asked impatiently. “We have to tell him what’s happened.”

  “Yes, of course, I’ll call him now.” Christina lifted the phone on her desk.

  “He already knows,” James said.

  Both Christina and Karl turned to James, staring at him so intently now that Marvin felt obliged to duck back under James’s collar lest he be seen.

  “What are you talking about?” Karl asked.

  James swallowed and stared at the floor, but Christina crouched in front of him, her voice coaxing. “James, what is it?”

  “I told Denny already. I called here and told him about Fortitude, and he said he’d go get you . . .” James stopped. “But he didn’t.”

  Christina put her hands on his shoulders and looked straight into his eyes. Marvin cringed at the bewildered sincerity in her face. How could he ever have doubted her? He felt a wave of guilt. She deserved an honest answer. But what would James say? It was all too hard to explain.

  “James, you have to tell us what’s going on,” Christina continued. “How did you find these drawings? Why do you have this briefcase?”

  “Listen,” James began, and Marvin knew he was assembling the details in his mind, his imagination rushing to fill each pause. “When we came this morning and Christina showed us my drawing, I found that address. Right here, rolled up . . . on the floor.” James pointed vaguely under the table. “I had this weird feeling. I can’t explain it. I figured the address had something to do with the drawing. I thought maybe it had fallen off the paper, you know, the package that was supposed to have the real Fortitude inside.” James glanced at them desperately.