"I don't quite understand," Mr. Sabin remarked, with a puzzled look,
"what your official position is in connection with the police."

Mr. Horser's face was a very ugly sight. "Oh, curse my official
position," he exclaimed thickly. "If you want proof of what I say
you shall have it in less than five minutes. Skinner, be off and
fetch a couple of constables."

"I really must protest," Mr. Sabin said. "Mr. Skinner is my guest,
and I will not have him treated in this fashion, just as the
terrapin is coming in, too. Sit down, Mr. Skinner, sit down. I
will settle this matter with you in my room, Mr. Horser, after I
have dined. I will not even discuss it before."

Mr. Horser opened his mouth twice, and closed it again. He knew
that his opponent was simply playing to gain time, but, after all,
he held the trump card. He could afford to wait. He turned to a
waiter and ordered a cigar. Mr. Sabin and Mr. Skinner continued
their dinner.

Conversation was a little difficult, though Mr. Sabin showed no
signs of an impaired appetite. Skinner was white with fear, and
glanced every now and then nervously at his chief. Mr. Horser
smoked without ceasing, and maintained an ominous silence. Mr.
Sabin at last, with a sigh, rose, and lighting a cigarette, took
his stick from the waiter and prepared to leave.

"I fear, Mr. Horser," he remarked, "that your presence has scarcely
contributed to the cheerfulness of our repast. Mr. Skinner, am I