"The Hot Seat." He banged on the lobby doors for a while without any
good result, and finally leaned against one of the side doors, which
opened. Malone fell through, recovered his balance and found himself
facing an old, bewhiskered man with a dustpan, a broom and a surprised
expression.

"I'm looking for a notebook," Malone said.

"Try a stationery store, youngster," the old man said. "I thought I'd
heard 'em all, but--"

"No," Malone said. "You don't understand."

"I don't have to understand," the old man said. "That's what's so
restful about this here job. I just got to sweep up. I don't have to
understand nothing. Good-by."

"I'm looking for a notebook I lost here last night," Malone said
desperately.

"Oh," the old man said. "Lost and Found. That's different. You come with
me."

The old man led Malone in silence to a cave deep in the bowels of the
theater, where he went behind a little desk, took up a pencil as if it
were a club, held it poised over a sheet of grimy paper, and said:
"Name?"

Malone said: "I just want to find a notebook."

"Got to give me your name, youngster," the old man said solemnly. "It's
the rules here. After all."

Malone sighed: "Kenneth Malone," he said. "And my address is--"

The old man, fiercely scribbling, looked up. "Wait a minute, can't you?"
he said. "I ain't through 'Kenneth' yet." He wrote on, and finally said:
"Address?"

"Statler Hilton Hotel," Malone said.

"In Manhattan?" the old man said.

"That's right," Malone said wearily.

"Ah," the old man said. "Tourist, ain't you? Tourists is always losing
things. Once it was a big dog. Don't know yet how a dog got into this
here theater. Had to feed it for four days before somebody showed up to
claim it. Fierce-looking animal. Part bloodhound, part water spaniel."

Fascinated in spite of himself, Malone said: "That's impossible."

"Nothing's impossible," the old man said. "Work for a theater long
enough and you find that out. Part bloodhound, I said, and part water
spaniel. Should have seen that dog before you start talking about
impossibilities. What a strange-looking beast. And then there was the
time--"

"About the notebook," Malone said.

"Notebook?" the old man said.

"I lost a notebook," Malone said. "I was hoping that--"

"Description?" the old man said, and poised his pencil again.

Malone heaved a great sigh. "Black plastic," he said. "About so big." He
made motions with his hands. "No names or