From time to time, and at intervals steadily decreasing, the hand of the
host sought the neck of the bottle, inclining it carefully above the
thin-stemmed glass that Hickey kept in almost constant motion. And the
detective's fatuous loquacity flowed as the contents of the bottle ebbed.

Yet, as the minutes wore on, the burglar began to be conscious that it was
but a shallow well of information and amusement that he pumped. The game,
fascinating with its spice of daring as it had primarily been, began to
pall. At length the masquerader calculated the hour as ripe for what he
had contemplated from the beginning; and interrupted Hickey with scant
consideration, in the middle of a most interesting exposition.

"You'll pardon me, I'm sure, if I trouble you again for the time."

The fat red fingers sought uncertainly for the timepiece: the bottle was
now empty. The hour, as announced, was ten minutes to two.

"I've an engagement," invented Anisty plausibly, "with a friend at two. If
you'll excuse me----? _Garcon, l'addition!_"

"Then I und'stand, Mister Maitland, we e'n count on yeh?"

Anisty, eyelids drooping, tipped back his chair a trifle and regarded
Hickey with a fair imitation of the whimsical Maitland smile. "Hardly, I
think."

"Why not?"--truculently.

"To be frank with you, I have three excellent reasons. The first should be
sufficient: I'm too lazy."