“What do you think of that?” said Roger. “You’ll find that in the story called ‘The Anarchist.’ ”
“I think less than nothing of it,” said Aubrey. “As your friend Don Marquis observed the other evening, an idea isn’t always to be blamed for the people who believe in it. Mr. Conrad has been reading some quack ads, that’s all. Because there are fake ads, that doesn’t condemn the principle of publicity. But look here, what I really came round to see you for is to show you this. It was in the Times this morning.”
He pulled out of his pocket a clipping of the “Lost” insertion to which Roger’s attention had already been drawn.
“Yes, I’ve just seen it,” said Roger. “I missed the book from my shelves, and I believe someone must have stolen it.”
“Well, now, I want to tell you something,” said Aubrey. “Tonight I had dinner at the Octagon with Mr. Chapman.” “Is that so?” said Roger. “You know his daughter’s here now.”
“So he told me. It’s rather interesting how it all works out. You see, after you told me the other day that Miss Chapman was coming to work for you, that gave me an idea. I knew her father would be specially interested in Brooklyn, on that account, and it suggested to me an idea for a window-display campaign here in Brooklyn for the Daintybits Products. You know we handle all his sales promotion campaigns. Of course I didn’t let on that I knew about his daughter coming over here, but he told me about it himself in the course of our talk. Well, here’s what I’m getting at. We had dinner in the Czechoslovak Grill, up on the fourteenth floor, and going up in the elevator I saw a man in a chef’s uniform carrying a book. I looked over his shoulder to see what it was. I thought of course it would be a cookbook. It was a copy of Oliver Cromwell.”
“So he found it again, eh? I must go and have a talk with that chap. If he’s a Carlyle fan I’d like to know him.”
“Wait a minute. I had seen the ‘Lost’ ad in the paper this morning, because I always look over that column. Often it gives me ideas for advertising stunts. If you keep an eye on the things people are anxious to get back, you know what they really prize, and if you know what they prize you can get a line on what goods ought to be advertised more extensively. This was the first time I had ever noticed a ‘Lost’ ad for a book, so I thought to myself ‘the book business is coming up.’ Well, when I saw the chef with the book in his hand, I said to him jokingly, ‘I see you found it again.’ He was a foreign-looking fellow, with a big beard, which is unusual for a chef, because I suppose it’s likely to get in the soup. He looked at me as though I’d run a carving knife into him, almost scared me the way he looked. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, and shoved the book out of sight under his arm. He seemed half angry and half frightened, so I thought maybe he had no right to be riding in the passenger elevator and was scared someone would report him to the manager. Just as we were getting to the fourteenth floor I said to him in a whisper, ‘It’s all right, old chap, I’m not going to report you.’ I give you my word he looked more scared than before. He went quite white. I got off at the fourteenth, and he followed me out. I thought he was going to speak to me, but Mr. Chapman was there in the lobby, and he didn’t have a chance. But I noticed that he watched me into the grill room as though I was his last chance of salvation.”
“I guess the poor devil was scared you’d report him to the police for stealing the book,” said Roger. “Never mind, let him have it.”
“Did he steal it?”
“I haven’t a notion. But somebody did, because it disappeared from here.”
“Well, now, wait a minute. Here’s the queer part of it. I didn’t think anything more about it, except that it was a funny coincidence my seeing him after having noticed that ad in the paper. I had a long talk with Mr. Chapman, and we discussed some plans for a prune and Saratoga chip campaign, and I showed him some suggested copy I had prepared. Then he told me about his daughter, and I let on that I knew you. I left the Octagon about eight o’clock, and I thought I’d run over here on the subway just to show you the ‘Lost’ notice and give you this tobacco. And when I got off the subway at Atlantic Avenue, who should I see but friend chef again. He got off the same train I did. He had on civilian clothes then, of course, and when he was out of his white uniform and pancake hat I recognized him right off. Who do you suppose it was?”
“Can’t imagine,” said Roger, highly interested by this time.
“Why, the professor-looking guy who came in to ask for the book the first night I was here.”
“Humph! Well, he must be keen about Carlyle, because he was horribly disappointed that evening when he asked for the book and I couldn’t find it. I remember how he insisted that I must have it, and I hunted all through the History shelves to make sure it hadn’t got misplaced. He said that some friend of his had seen it here, and he had come right round to buy it. I told him he could certainly get a copy at the Public Library, and he said that wouldn’t do at all.”
“Well, I think he’s nuts,” said Aubrey, “because I’m damn sure he followed me
