em.

I drew a sheet of paper towards me, wrote to Dr. Willoughby alleging
that I was a very absent-minded man, and would be glad of his
pamphlet, adding that my special hobby was the collecting of first
editions. I then signed myself, 'Alport Webster, Imperial Flats,
London, W.'

I may here explain that it is often necessary for me to see people
under some other name than the well-known appellation of Eugene
Valmont. There are two doors to my flat, and on one of these is
painted, 'Eugene Valmont'; on the other there is a receptacle, into
which can be slipped a sliding panel bearing any _nom de guerre_ I
choose. The same device is arranged on the ground floor, where the
names of all the occupants of the building appear on the right-hand
wall.

I sealed, addressed, and stamped my letter, then told my man to put
out the name of Alport Webster, and if I did not happen to be in when
anyone called upon that mythical person, he was to make an appointment
for me.

It was nearly six o'clock next afternoon when the card of Angus
Macpherson was brought in to Mr. Alport Webster. I recognised the young
man at once as the second who had entered the little shop carrying his
tribute to Mr. Simpson the day before. He held three volumes under his
arm, and spoke in such a pleasant, insinuating sort of way, that I
knew at once he was an adept in his profession of canvasser.

'Will you be seated, Mr. Macpherson? In what can I serve you?'

He placed the three volumes, backs upward, on my table.

'Are you interested at all in first editions, Mr. Webster?'

'It is the one thing I am interested in,' I replied; 'but
unfortunately they often run into a lot of money.'

'That is true,' said Macpherson sympathetically, 'and I have here
three books, one of which is an exemplification of what you say. This
one costs a hundred pounds. The last copy that was sold by auction in
London brought a hundred and twenty-three pounds. This next one is
forty pounds, and the third ten pounds. At these prices I am certain
you could not duplicate three such treasures in any book shop in
Britain.'

I examined them critically, and saw at once that what he said was
true. He was still standing on the opposite side of the table.

'Please take a chair, Mr. Macpherson. Do you mean to say you go round
London with a hundred and fifty pounds worth of goods under your arm
in this careless way?'

The young man laughed.

'I run very little risk, Mr. Webster. I