In a spy novel I had just read, the hero hid a letter in a particular statue in Washington, D.C. Since I was in that city at the time, on a whim I decided to see if the statue really contained the small niche the author had described. To my great surprise, it did — and a cellophane-wrapped letter was inside. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled out the letter, opened it, and burst into laughter.
An unidentified reader had penned, “Good book, wasn’t it?”