Mr. Sabin looked at him coolly, and fingered his wineglass.

"Well," he said, "I've a shocking memory for names, but yours is
--Mr. Horser, isn't it? I heard it for the first time this morning,
and my memory will generally carry me through four-and-twenty hours."

There was a moment's silence. Horser was no fool. He accepted his
defeat and dropped the bully.

"You're a stranger in this city, Mr. Sabin, and I guess you aren't
altogether acquainted with our ways yet," he said. "But I want you
to understand this. The report which is in your pocket has got to
be returned to me. If I'd known what I was meddling with I wouldn't
have touched your business for a hundred thousand dollars. It's got
to be returned to me, I say!" he repeated in a more threatening tone.

Mr. Sabin helped himself to fish, and made a careful examination of
the sauce.

"After all," he said meditatively, "I am not sure that I was wise
in insisting upon a sauce piquante. I beg your pardon, Mr. Horser.
Please do not think me inattentive, but I am very hungry. So, I
believe, is my friend, Mr. Skinner. Will you not join us--or
perhaps you have already dined?"

There was an ugly flush in Mr. Horser's cheeks, but he struggled to
keep his composure.

"Will you give me back that report?"