the waiter as he passed towards his room. "Come in, will you?
You've got your certificates all right?"

Mr. James Shepherd had the air of a man with whom prosperity had not
wholly agreed. He was paler and pastier-looking than ever, and his
little green eyes seemed even more restless. His attire - a long
rough overcoat over the livery of his profession - scarcely enhanced
the dignity of his appearance.

"Well, what is it?" Laverick asked, as soon as the door was closed.

"Our bar is being watched," the man declared. "I don't think it's
anything to do with the police. Seems to be a sort of foreign gang.
They're all round the place, morning, noon, and night. They've
pumped everybody."

"There isn't very much," Laverick remarked slowly, "for them to find
out except from you."

"They've found out something, anyway," Shepherd continued. "My
junior waiter, unfortunately, who was asleep in the sitting-room,
told them he was sure there were customers in the place between ten
and twelve on Monday night, because they woke him up twice, talking.
They're beginning to look at me a bit doubtful."

"I shouldn't worry," Laverick advised. "The inquest's on now and
you haven't been called. I don't fancy you're running any sort of
risk. Any one may say they believe there were people in the, bar
between those hours, but there isn't any one who can contradict you
outright. Besides, you haven't sworn to anything. You've simply