"Hello, Colonel! What can I do for you this morning?" said Hooker cheerily, to a middle-aged man, erect of figure, who had just entered. He was one of those men who make their living picking up old books, old guns, old papers, old coins, old pictures, old everything. He also, at times, had a faculty of picking up old liquors, which was not good for him. He was known as the "Colonel" because of his military bearing and his interest in the Civil War. He had really been a soldier serving in the glorious and extensive regiment known as the home guard.
"Good morning, Mr. Hooker. I've a matter I'd like to speak to you about—but in the strictest confidence. I'm on the track of a really fine book."
At this Hooker smiled. Although in his long and busy life and in his strange wanderings the Colonel had secured a few good things his "finds" generally turned out to be of no value. Hooker had frequently advanced him money to purchase what the Colonel termed "nuggets," but when they were brought to him changed, in the twinkling of an eye, into fool's gold.
"Well, what is it?" said Hooker, rather impatiently, fearing another tug at his purse-strings.
"You've read this morning's papers? The 'Murders in the Rue Morgue' brought at the sale yesterday thirty-eight hundred dol—"
"Enough of that!" retorted Hooker, who was becoming angry. "I never want to hear of that damned book again!"
"But I know where there's another copy," presented the Colonel, weakly.
"So do I. In the British Museum!"
"No, Mr. Hooker. Right here in New York."
"Where?"