“Certainly. Haven’t you ever remarked that a serious-minded earnestness always goes with cobbling? Though I’m not really a practical cobbler, but a proprietary one. Our friend, Bertram, will dress and act the practical part. I’ve wired him and he’s replied, collect, accepting the job. You and I will be in the background.” “Where?” “NO. 27 Jasmine Street. Not a very savory locality. Why is it, Warren, that the beauty of a city street is generally in inverse ratio to the poetic quality of its name? There I’ve hired the shop and stock of Mr. Hans Fichtel for two days, at the handsome rental of ten dollars per day. Mr. Fichtel purposes to take a keg of beer a-fishing. I think two days will be enough.” “For the keg?” “For that noble Roman, Livius. He’ll be reading the papers pretty keenly now. And in to-morrow’s, he’ll find this advertisement.” Average Jones read from a sheet of paper which he took from his pocket: “FOUND—Old book in foreign language, probably Latin, marked ‘Percival.’ Owner may recover by giving satisfactory description of peculiar and obscure feature and refunding for advertisement. Fichtel, 27 Jasmine Street.” “What is the peculiar and obscure feature, Jones?” asked Warren. “I don’t know.” “How do you know there is any?” “Must be something peculiar about the book or Enderby wouldn’t put in four months of work on the chance of stealing it. And it must be obscure, otherwise the auctioneer would have spotted it.” “Sound enough!” approved the other. “What could it be? Some interpolated page?” “Hardly. I’ve a treatise in my pocket on seventeenth century book-making, which I’m going to study to-night. Be ready for an early start to meet Bertram.” That languid and elegant gentleman arrived by the first morning train. He protested mightily when he was led to the humble shoe-shop. He protested more mightily when invited to don a leather apron and smudge his face appropriately to his trade. His protests, waxing vehement and eventually profane, as he barked his daintily-kept fingers, in rehearsal for giving a correct representation of an honest artisan cobbling a boot, died away when Average Jones explained to him that on pretense of having found a rare book, he was to worm out of a cautious and probably suspicious criminal the nature of some unique and hidden feature of the volume. “Trust me for diplomacy,” said Bertram airily. “I will because I’ve got to,” retorted Average Jones. “Well, get to work. To you the outer shop: to Warren and me this rear room. And, remember, if you hear me whetting a knife, that means come at once.”