It was well after midnight in Stain'd-by-the-Sea. The moon was bright and low, casting long shadows into the lonely streets, as if trying to fade the town even faster. However, the streets were not quite completely deserted. Had anyone been watching very closely, they may have caught a glimpse of movement on the one labeled Caravan. Moderately paced movement it was, the purposeful kind that signified neither panic nor idleness. This was the movement of Dashiell Qwerty, making his way to Black Cat Coffee.

The corner of Caravan and Parfait was empty when he arrived, but Black Cat Coffee was not. At the counter amidst the shiny machinery and player piano music sat Ellington Feint with a cup of coffee. She did not look up when he walked in.

Dashiell pressed the C button for coffee, and sat down one seat over from Ellington.

"Hello, Mr. Qwerty," she said.

"Hello, Ms. Feint," the sub-librarian replied.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, just to be sure that no one else was about to walk in. The only sound was that of the player piano, tinkling away at its melancholic tune that it never seemed to tire of. Qwerty knew the name of the song, but he didn't much like it. It reminded him of something only too dear.

"Do you have what I asked for?" Ellington asked, in a voice so quiet it was barely audible.

"I do," Qwerty replied, just as quietly. "But how do I know I can trust you?"

Ellington shot him an indignant glance.

"Why don't you trust me?"

"Because your name isn't Ellington Feint." Others may have called it rash. Dashiell Qwerty called it a calculated shot in the dark.

The girl whose name wasn't Ellington Feint smiled. It was a smile that, for all Lemony Snicket knew, could have meant anything. But this time Dashiell Qwerty knew exactly what it meant.

"And your name is not Dashiell Qwerty," the girl who called herself Ellington Feint said.

The sub-librarian whose name was not Dashiell Qwerty smiled. They had both been on the same trail all along, and now they had both been proven correct. Reassured, he reached into a pocket of his leather jacket and retrieved a small sugar bowl, which he offered to Ellington.

"No thank you, I don't take sugar," she said.

"At least try some."

The sub-librarian who called himself Dashiell Qwerty gave her a meaningful glance, and Ellington understood that this was more than a matter of sugar. She took the container, lifted its lid just enough to see the tiny commonplace book concealed within it, and slipped it into a pocket of her own.

"Thank you." Ellington took a thoughtful sip of coffee before continuing. "Have there been many people coming to the library?"

Qwerty looked at her curiously for a moment before answering. "Do you mean have I met Snicket?"

"I mean, has he been to the library?"

"Yes. He's been coming quite often. You've met him, then?"

Ellington nodded.

"Just this evening. He fell out of a hawser, and I had to get him down from the tree he landed in. What do you make of him?"

"Well, he has his secrets—like all of us, I suppose; though I have a feeling that his may be of a deeper nature, if you take my meaning. He sent a message to someone at the Fourier Branch, in the form of a book request."

"The Fourier Branch?" She thought for a moment. "But that's where…"

"That's what I thought. What's more, this 'request' read 'Sorry, But I Cannot Meet You At the Fountain.'"

"The fountain!"

Qwerty lowered his voice even further.

"And then, a request came in from the Fourier Branch, 'Don T. Worry, I'll Measure It Myself.' I know what it looks like, but do you think that's even possible?"

"Yes, it's possible. Of course it's possible. It just depends on who at the Fourier Branch received his request."

She fell silent, and took to drumming her long black fingernails on the surface of the counter, trying to hide from her face the troubled feeling growing within her. After a harsh battle she proved unsuccessful. Dashiell would have known what she was thinking anyway, though, for it was also on his mind.

"Don't worry too much," he said, to console himself as well as Ellington. "Anyone who spends as much time in a library as this Snicket does is bound to be pretty trustworthy."

"Yes. Unless—"

"Unless what?"

"Nothing." Ellington raised her voice abruptly. "I really must get back now, it's terribly late. Good night, Mr. Qwerty."

Without another word Ellington Feint rose from her seat, left Black Cat Coffee, and disappeared once more into the shadows.

"Good night, Ms. Fei—" Qwerty realized that she was already gone, which made the formalities useless. He stopped himself in the middle of her pseudonym, and instead bade good night to her real name, the name of his sister.