They left a much startled banker peering through his window-screen.
The public library was but a few blocks from the bank. George Deaves wished to take a taxicab, but Evan advised against it. Their little grey shadow followed them to the door of the great building but did not enter. Having satisfied themselves of this, they got in touch with one of the assistant librarians, and put their case up to him.
The magic name of Deaves acted like a talisman. The plan was carefully laid. George Deaves proceeded to the reading-room and, calling for Lockhart's "History of the Crimean War," retired to a corner and placed the bills between the leaves as specified. The books were then returned to the desk, and Deaves with the connivance of the librarian was spirited out of the building by the delivery entrance. This was to prevent the watcher outside from remarking that, whereas two entered, only one came out. When neither returned he would naturally suppose that both had slipped past him.
Meanwhile Evan waited in the librarian's private office, arrangements having been made to notify him by phone when the books were called for again. They would hold up the books at the delivery desk long enough to allow Evan to reach the reading-room. It was a long wait. The librarian offered him books, but he could not apply his mind.
"You're sure there's no chance of a slip-up among so many clerks?" he said anxiously. "One may forget."
"We're not trusting to their memories. The librarian in charge of delivery is a friend of mine. Lockhart's History is in his desk, and in its place on the shelf is pinned a ticket, 'apply to the librarian.'"
At last the message came over the phone: "Lockhart's 'History of the Crimean War' called for from seat 433."
Evan's heart accelerated its pace a little. "Whereabouts in the room is that seat?"
"The last table in the south end on the right-hand side."
"Ha! He wants to get in the corner! Can I get there without marching down the whole length of the room?"