the time comes?"

"Have I ever failed you?"

"No. We meet as strangers."

Peters bustled off. He had the reputation of being the smartest "writer
up" in London of mystery cases. The Steynholme affair had interested both
him and a shrewd news-editor.

The pair arrived at the Hare and Hounds within a few minutes of each
other. The big man registered as "Mr. W. Franklin, Argentina." Peters
ordered a chop, and went off at once to interview the local policeman.
Mr. Franklin took more pains over the prospective meal.

"Have you a nice chicken?" he inquired.

Yes, Mr. Tomlin had a veritable spring chicken in the larder at
that moment.

"And do you think your cook could provide a _tourne-dos_?"

"A what-a, sir?" wheezed Tomlin.

The visitor explained. He liked variety, he said. Half the chicken might
be deviled for breakfast. The two dishes, with plain boiled potatoes and
French beans, would suit him admirably. He was sorry he dared not try
Tomlin's excellent claret, but a dominating doctor had put him on the
water-cart. In effect, Mr. Franklin impressed the landlord as a man of
taste and ample means.