As he stood there attempting to recall the name of the purchaser, Lucile’s gaze strayed to an opening between two rows of books. Instantly her eyes were caught as a bird’s by a serpent, as she found herself looking into a pair of cruel, crafty, prying eyes. They vanished instantly but left her with a cold chill running up her spine. It was the man who had been seated at the table, but why had he been spying? She had not long to wait before a possible solution was given her.
“I know!” exclaimed the shopkeeper at this instant, “I bought it from a foreigner. Bought two others from him, too. Made good money on ’em all, too. Why!” he exclaimed suddenly, “he was in here when you came. Had another book under his arm, he did; wanted to sell it, I judge. I was just keeping him waiting a little so’s he wouldn’t think I wanted it too bad. If they think you want their books bad they stick for a big price.” His voice had dropped to a whisper; his eyes had narrowed to what was meant to be a very wise-meaning expression.
“May be here yet.” He darted around the stand of books.
“That’s him just going out the door. Hey, you!” he shouted after the man.
Paying not the least attention, the person passed out, slamming the door after him.
Passing rapidly down the room, the proprietor poked his head out of the door and shouted twice. After listening for a moment he backed into the room and shut the door.
“Gone,” he muttered. “Worse luck to me. Sometimes we wait too long and sometimes not long enough. Now some other lucky dog will get that book.”
In the meantime Lucile had glanced about the shop. Two persons were reading beneath a lamp in the corner. Neither was the man with the birthmark. It was natural enough to conclude that it was he who had left the room.
“Did he have a birthmark on his chin, this man you bought the book from?” she asked as the proprietor returned.
“Yes, ma’am, he did.”