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I borrowed—to read.”
    â€œI’m afraid I don’t keep up with the current authors as I should. My daughter warns me that that’s a sign of advancing years, and that I ought to fight the tendency.” He smiled. “She says fiction gives one the contemporary background. Well, Caroline is always right; but when I read fiction, I want fiction, you know; I don’t want a document!”
    â€œThere’s a lot to be said for your point of view. But even your favorites—” Gamadge’s eye wandered along the shelves nearest him—“even they don’t quite keep their social bias out of their novels.”
    â€œPerhaps,” laughed Fenway, “mine is the same as theirs!”
    â€œLet’s see them.”
    They walked from section to section of the cases, stopping to glance at the books Mr. Fenway pulled out, discussing certain finds and special treasures. At last, when they had reached the end of the east wall, Gamadge said: “There’s your Elsie Venner , I see. All correct, I suppose, misprint and all.”
    Mr. Fenway looked mortified. “I’m ashamed to say it isn’t. I had no idea ours wasn’t the real, right thing until Hall enlightened me. It really makes me very restless not to have the right one; with everything else right, you know. But I don’t feel justified in indulging a hobby these days, with such a crying want of money for the war needs.”
    Gamadge said: “I have the real right one.”
    â€œYou have!” Mr. Fenway gazed at him with baffled longing.
    â€œAnd I don’t in the least want it. Look here, Mr. Fenway; why shouldn’t we do a trade?”
    â€œA trade? What can I possibly have that you do want?”
    â€œWell, you have a duplicate William Henry Letters . Mine was read to pulp when I was a boy. If you cared to part with one of them, and with your Elsie Venner —”
    â€œYou don’t mean it? The deal wouldn’t be at all a fair one.”
    â€œI can consult J. Hall. There won’t be much cash difference.”
    â€œMy dear Mr. Gamadge, you really have no idea what a favor you’re doing me.”
    â€œNone at all, but I know how you feel. I used to buy firsts myself.”
    â€œI’ll have the books sent down to your house today, and the man can pick up your Holmes.”
    â€œNot at all; I’ll take them with me in a cab, and bring your book along tonight or tomorrow.”
    â€œWhat fun it all is—these discoveries and coincidences! And what a piece of luck for me! I must tell Caroline about it, and my sister-in-law and her friend Mrs. Grove will be much interested too. They’re looking forward to meeting you in any case. When we’ve finished here we’ll go up.”
    Gamadge was a little amused and much gratified to find that he had passed his examinations; but there was a final one to come. It came while Fenway closed the glass door of the last bookshelf:
    â€œI believe you do your duty as a citizen in a way that few of us are qualified to do it,” he said. “Our firm has never practised in the criminal branch of the law, but we have always had the highest respect for those who face the more disagreeable aspects of it—and for criminologists in general.”
    Gamadge, laughing, said that he never hoped to hear a handsomer tribute to detective investigation. He added: “I’m afraid the puzzle element in it is the element that attracts me. I can’t profess to be actuated by loftier motives when I take a case.”
    Mr. Fenway seemed delighted. “A hobby; I thought so!”
    â€œBut not,” said Gamadge, “exactly a sport.”
    â€œNo, no; it could never be that. You don’t—” Mr. Fenway hesitated, and then went on in an apologetic tone—“you don’t do this work professionally?”
    Gamadge laughed again. “I’ve been retained, sometimes, but now I come to