"Where do you come from ?" The man hesitated.
"I am the waiter, sir, at the 'Black Post,'-- little bar and restaurant, you know," he added, "just behind your offices, sir, at the end of Crooked Friars' Alley.

You've been in once or twice, Mr.Laverick, I think.

Mr.Morrison's a regular customer.
He comes in for a drink most mornings." Laverick nodded.
"I knew I'd seen your face somewhere," he said.

"What do you want with Mr.Morrison ?" The man was silent.

He twirled his hat and looked embarrassed.
"It's a matter I shouldn't like to mention to any one except Mr.
Morrison himself, sir," he declared finally.