But he couldn't have
learned all his Latin in four months."
"He didn't. He was a scholar already; an accomplished one, who went
wrong through drink and became a crook, specializing in rare books
and prints. His name is Enderby; you'll find it in the Harvard
catalogue. He's supposed to be dead. My assistant traced him
through his Spanish-Latin teacher, a priest."
"But even allowing for his scholarship, he must have put in a deal
of work perfecting himself in readiness of speech and accent."
"So he did. Therefore the prize must be big. A man of Enderby's
caliber doesn't concoct a scheme of such ingenuity, and go into
bondage with it, for nothing. Do you belong to the Cosmic Club?"
The assistant professor stared. "No," he said.
"I'd like to put you up there. One advantage of membership is that
its roster includes experts in every known line of erudition, from
scarabs to skeeing. For example, I am now going to telegraph for
aid from old Millington, who seldom misses a book auction and is a
human bibliography of the wanderings of all rare volumes.
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