Fisher went up the stairs to meet him and found him addressing the occupant of the room in his own eccentric fashion.
"No more Patagonia!" he roared, "no more Tierra del Fuego!" he paused.
"Certainly!" He replied to some question, "but not Patagonia," he paused again, and Fisher standing at the foot of the stairs wondered what had occurred to make the visitor so genial.
"I suppose your cheque will be honoured all right ?" asked the visitor sardonically, and then burst into a little chuckle of laughter as he carefully closed the door.
He came down the corridor talking to himself, and greeted Fisher.
"Damn all Greeks," he said jovially, and Fisher could do no more than smile reproachfully, the smile being his very own, the reproach being on behalf of the master who paid him.
The traveller touched the other on the chest with his right hand.
"Never trust a Greek," he said, "always get your money in advance.

Is that clear to you ?" "Yes, sir," said Fisher, "but I think you will always find that Mr.Kara is always most generous about money." "Don't you believe it, don't you believe it, my poor man," said the other, "you--" At that moment there came from Kara's room a faint "clang." "What's that ?" asked the visitor a little startled.
"Mr.Kara's put down his steel latch," said Fisher with a smile, "which means that he is not to be disturbed until--" he looked at his watch, "until eleven o'clock at any rate." "He's a funk!" snapped the other, "a beastly funk!" He stamped down the stairs as though testing the weight of every tread, opened the front door without assistance, slammed it behind him and disappeared into the night.
Fisher, his hands in his pockets, looked after the departing stranger, nodding his head in reprobation.
"You're a queer old devil," he said, and looked at his watch again.
It wanted five minutes to ten..