declared. "My business doesn't take very long, and I can only see
the people I want to see in the middle of the day. After that, I
don't mind telling you that I find time hangs a bit on my hands.
Try one of these," he added, producing a cigar case.

The Inspector thanked him and helped himself. Mr. Coulson
summoned the waiter.

"Highball for me," he directed. "What's yours, Mr. Jacks?"

"Thank you very much," the Inspector said. "I will take a little
Scotch whiskey and soda."

The two men sat down. The corner was a retired one, and there was
no one within earshot.

"Say, are you still on this Hamilton Fynes business?" Mr. Coulson
asked.

"Partly," the Inspector replied.

"You know, I'm not making reflections," Mr. Coulson said,
sticking his cigar in a corner of his mouth and leaning back in a
comfortable attitude, "but it does seem to me that you are none
too rapid on this side in clearing up these matters. Why, a
little affair of that sort wouldn't take the police twenty
minutes in New York. We have a big city, full of alien quarters,
full of hiding places, and chock full of criminals, but our
police catch em, all the same. There's no one going to commit
murder in the streets of New York without finding himself in the