"I understand that you wish to see me ?" The caller ducked his yellow head again, sat down on the edge of the chair, put his hat on the floor, picked it up again, and endeavoured to hang it on his knee, and looked at Spargo innocently and shyly.
"What I want to see, sir," he observed in a rustic accent, "is the gentleman as wrote that piece in your newspaper about this here murder in Middle Temple Lane." "You see him," said Spargo.

"I am that man." The caller smiled--generously.
"Indeed, sir ?" he said.

"A very nice bit of reading, I'm sure.

And what might your name be, now, sir?
I can always talk free-er to a man when I know what his name is." "So can I," answered Spargo.

"My name is Spargo--Frank Spargo.