HOLDEN'S STORY The long-nosed ex-sergeant entered.

His sallow face was browned after his long journeys and exposure to the Italian sun in midsummer.

He was soiled and travel-stained.
"Excuse my appearance," he said.

"I have had no time for even a wash since this morning.

On board the boat I thought it best to keep a constant watch on Capella and his companions." "Who are they ?" demanded Brett.
Mr.Holden looked at the barrister with an injured air.
"I am a man of few words, sir," he said, "and if you do not mind, I will tell my story in my own way." Winter was secretly delighted to hear the "Old 'Un," as they called him in the Yard, take a rise out of Brett in this manner.
"Perhaps," exclaimed the barrister, "your few words will come more easily if you wet your whistle." "Well, I must admit that Italian wine--" "Is not equal to Scotch; or is it Irish ?" "Irish, sir, if you please." Mr.Holden's utterance having been cleared of cinders, he made a fresh start.
"As I was saying, gentlemen, I kept an observant eye on Capella and his companions, and at the same time occupied myself in the fashioning of certain little models with which to illustrate my subsequent remarks." He produced a map of Naples, which he carefully smoothed out on the table, pressing the creases with his fingers until Brett itched to tweak his long nose.
The man was evidently a Belfast Irishman, and the barrister forced himself to find amusement in speculating how such an individual came to speak Italian fluently.