"Well, now, that's curious," he answered cheerfully. "I can only see one of you, but I'm glad to have you call, stranger, anyway. Come right in. Are you sent by my friend to kinder cheer me up? I find this big city of yours a powerful kind of tonic after Wyoming. Come right in." Mr. White was as greatly nonplussed by the newcomer's attitude as by his flow of language. Within the drawing-room Corbett caught sight of the second detective. "Hello! Here's the other one. Ve-ry glad to meet you both. Now, if you'll just tell me your names we'll get along straight away, as I guess you know mine all right." The man was genuinely pleased by this unexpected visit. He smilingly pushed towards them a box of cigars, green ones, and helped himself to a weed. "My name," said the detective, "is Inspector White, of Scotland Yard, and my friend here accompanies me officially." "And hasn't he got a name?" "Yes; but it doesn't matter." "Well, if it doesn't matter, we won't quarrel. I guess you've got a message of some sort for me, else you wouldn't trouble to climb these stairs. Why don't you have el-e-vators in these big buildings?" "As I said," began Mr. White, "we are from Scotland Yard." "That's so. I've got that fixed O.K. Your name is I. White, from Scotland Yard. I don't know where Scotland Yard is, but we'll worry along without the geography of it." "I am in the police. My title is Inspector. It is not my Christian name. Scotland Yard is the headquarters of the London police." The American's eyes opened wide in wonder at this announcement, and a perplexing thought seemed to occur to him. But he said quietly: "I'll figure it out better when you tell me why you've been good enough to call. And suppose we all sit down. I'm not used to stone pavements. I'm tired." "Your name is Sydney H. Corbett?" said the detective severely, though he took a chair. "So my people always told me." "And you have occupied these chambers since August last?" "Have I?" "So I am informed." "Get along with your story." "You have just returned to England from Wyoming. The New York police cabled me that you arrived in Liverpool yesterday." "Did they now? That was real cute of 'em." "I want to ask you, in the first instance, the exact date of your departure from this country." Before replying to the detective Corbett looked at him fixedly, as though he was trying to read what was passing in his mind. At last he said with a smile: "Say, what are you after, Mr. White of Scotland Yard? What's the game? Who's been fooling you?" "That is not the way to talk to me, sir. Answer my question fully and properly, or it may be worse for you." "Jehosh! Have you come to wipe the floor with me?" "Are you going to reply to me or not?" "I'm not going to speak square to any man who comes along and puts a thing like you do." "Very well. I can get my information by other means. You leave me no alternative--"