“Anguilla,” she suggested.

“Sure,” Dortmunder said, as though he knew just what she meant. “Anything you want. And they send you the whole story.”

“My,” she said and looked again at all the promo papers spread around her neat living room.

“And don’t forget the five annual roundups,” Dortmunder told her, “to keep your encyclopedia right up to date for the next five years.”

“My,” she said.

“And you can reserve the whole thing,” Dortmunder said, “for a simple ten-dollar deposit.” There had been a time when he had been using the phrase “measly ten-dollar deposit,” but gradually he’d noticed that the prospects who eventually turned the deal down almost always gave a visible wince at the word “measly,” so he’d switched to “simple” and the results had been a lot better. Keep it simple, he decided, and you can’t go wrong.

“Well, that’s certainly something,” the woman said. “Do you mind waiting while I get my purse?”

“Not at all,” Dortmunder said.

She left the room, and Dortmunder sat back on the sofa and smiled lazily at the world outside the picture window. A man had to stay alive somehow while waiting for a big score to develop, and there was nothing better for that than an encyclopedia con. In the spring and fall, that is; winter was too cold for house-to-house work and summer was too hot. But given the right time of year, the old encyclopedia scam was unbeatable. It kept you in the fresh air and in nice neighborhoods, it gave you a chance to stretch your legs in comfortable living rooms and chat with mostly pleasant suburban ladies, and it bought the groceries.