It was the second Wednesday of December 1893 when Mr Caldecott, a wealthy collector of early English drama, brought to us a quarrel with Mr Berriman the bookseller of Charing Cross Road.
"I bought a Shakespeare First Folio of '23 from Mr Berriman last Friday at four hundred pounds. It was delivered to my house in Cavendish Square by his messenger at six o'clock. I unwrapped it at eight. The binding is the binding I inspected at the shop; the leather is right; the boards are right. The edition within is the Second Folio of '32 - eighty pounds at the trade-price. The volumes have been substituted in transit."
We walked across to Charing Cross Road through a sharp December afternoon. Passing the bookseller's window I noticed a young clerk in a threadbare dark suit pause for the briefest moment, his brown leather portfolio shifted to his other arm and his ink-stained left middle finger touching the glass before he walked on toward the Strand. Mr Berriman met us at his counter - a thin, careful man of sixty, his apron clean, his face troubled.