“So he did. Therefore the prize must be big. A man of Enderby’s caliber doesn’t concoct a scheme of such ingenuity, and go into bondage with it, for nothing. Do you belong to the Cosmic Club?” The assistant professor stared. “No,” he said. “I’d like to put you up there. One advantage of membership is that its roster includes experts in every known line of erudition, from scarabs to skeeing. For example, I am now going to telegraph for aid from old Millington, who seldom misses a book auction and is a human bibliography of the wanderings of all rare volumes. I’m going to find out from him what British publication of the late seventeenth century in Latin is very valuable; also what volumes of that time have changed hands in the last six months.” “Colonel Graeme went to a big book auction in New York early in March,” volunteered Warren, “but he told me he didn’t pick up anything of particular value.” “Then it’s something he doesn’t know about and Livius does. I’m going to take advantage of our Roman’s rather un-B.-C.-like habit of reading the daily papers by trying him out with this advertisement.” Average Jones wrote rapidly and tossed the result to his coadjutor who read: “LOST—Old book printed in Latin. Buff leather binding, a little faded (‘It’s safe to be that,’ explained Average Jones). No great value except to owner. Return to Colonel Ridgway Graeme, 11 Carteret Street, and receive reward.” The advertisement made its appearance in big type on the front pages of the Baltimore paper of the following day. That evening Average Jones met Warren, for dinner, with a puckered brow. “Did Livius rise to the bait?” asked the scholar. “Did he!” chuckled Average Jones. “He’s been nervous as a cat all day and hardly has looked at the library. But what puzzles me is this.” He exhibited a telegram from New York. “Millington says positively no book of that time and description any great value. Enderby at Barclay auction in March and made row over some book which he missed because it was put up out of turn in catalogue. Barclay auctioneer thinks it was one of Percival privately bound books 1680-1703. An anonymous book of Percival library, _De Meritis Librorum Britannorum_, was sold to Colonel Graeme for $47, a good price. When do I get in on this? “(Signed), ROBERT BERTRAM.” “I know that treatise,” said Warren. “It isn’t particularly rare.” Average Jones stared at the telegram in silence. Finally he drawled: “There are—er—books and—er—books—and—er—things in books. Wait here for me.” Three hours later he reappeared with collar wilted, but spirits elate, and abruptly announced: “Warren, I’m a cobbler.” “A what?” “A cobbler. Mend your boots, you know.” “Are you in earnest?”