Shaking his head over this flimsy structure of logic, he headed down to "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?"
"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--"
"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 initials on it. But the first page had my name written on it, along with Lieutenant Peter Lynch."