Inspector Ghote's Brooklyn Mystery

Who knew so many people in our apartment building took notice of my withering two line book reviews on the blog?

Eleven days and counting and 'Inspector Ghote Caught in Meshes' is still sitting all alone in the lobby of our apartment building. The book briefly disappeared from view on day two but the anonymous wannabe book lover put it back in place on the mantelpiece a few hours later and it's been there ever since.

At this point, I'm too embarrassed to even acknowledge its existence. I'm guessing I'll have to set the alarm for the middle of the night, don suitable clothing, and take a train out to Long Island with a shovel, some quicklime and a bag of quick-setting cement.

Alternatively, I could 'recover it' - wearing the aforementioned clothing - bung it on book swap and secure that signed copy of The Fountainhead that I've always wanted.

Inspector Ghote Caught in Meshes by H. R. F. Keating (Penguin Books 1967)

The three men had been sprawled there in the shade of the big Flame of the Forest for nearly two hours, but although it was very hot and almost intolerably muggy they had not slept. There was a feeling of tension behind their air of easy-going relaxedness. It showed in the way every now and again one of them would check over his gun.

The Sikh in the orange turban had an American self-loading Garand rifle and the other two had revolvers, one a British Army officer's issue Webley and the other a much abused Smith and Wesson dating from the early years of the century. This last was hardly reliable at a range over five yards, but none of the three expected to use it at even this distance.