"What secret is that?" asked Brown, peering at him intently through
the dim light, where he swayed in the corner with every jolt of the
taxi.

"Sorry, m'dear fellow. Mussn' ask me that. Gotta tell Major n'no one
else."

"But I am the Major's confidential--"

"Sorry. You'll 'scuse me, 'm'sure. Can't talk Misser Brow!--'gret
'ceedingly 'cessity reticence. Unnerstan'?"

The taxi stopped before a vaguely lighted saloon on Fifty-ninth
Street east of Fifth Avenue. McKay opened his eyes, looked around
him in the bitter darkness, stumbled out into the snow on Brown's
arm.

"A quiet, cosy little cafe," said Brown, "where I don't mind joining
you in something hot before dinner."

"Thasso? Fine! Hot Scotch we' good 'n'cold day. We'll havva l'il
drink keep us warm 'n'snug."

A few respectable-looking men were drinking beer in the cafe as they
entered a little room beyond, where a waiter came to them and took
Brown's orders.

Hours later McKay seemed to be no more intoxicated than he had been;
no more loquacious or indiscreet. He had added nothing to what he