I did see Mr. Parker later, but not quite so late as the time appointed. He was in the American bar at the Milan when I looked in there just before luncheon and was talking to two of the most ferocious and objectionable- looking ruffians I had ever seen in my life. He glanced at me blandly, but without any sign of recognition, save that I fancied I caught the slightest twitch of his left eyebrow. I took the hint and did not join him. My reward came presently; for, after leaving the room with his two acquaintances, Mr. Parker strolled back again, and coming straight over to me clapped me on the shoulder. "This is capital!" he exclaimed. "We meet tonight?" "Without a doubt," I assured him. He drew me a little on one side. "Say," he inquired, scratching the side of his chin, "have you any objection to a bit of a scrap?" "Not the slightest," I replied, "so long as Miss Parker is out of it!" "Good boy!" Mr. Parker pronounced. "Yes; we'll keep her out of it, all right. I shall count on you then. Just keep yourself in reserve. We'll talk it over at dinner time. You just stroll in casually and I'll call you over. By the by," he added, lowering his voice, "did you see those two fellows I was with?" "I saw them!" I confessed. "They were just a trifle noticeable." Mr. Parker came a little nearer to me. He accentuated his words by beating on the palm of his left hand with two fingers of his right. "Absolutely, my dear Walmsley, two of the most unmitigated and desperate ruffians on either continent!" "They looked it," I agreed heartily. "Their record," Mr. Parker continued--"their police record, I mean--is one of the most wonderful things ever put on paper. The marvelous thing is how, even for a few minutes, they should be out of prison! Did you notice the one with the cast in his eye?" "I did," I admitted. "They used to call him Angel Jake," Mr. Parker proceeded confidentially. "He was sentenced to death once for shooting a policeman, but there was some technicality--he was tried in the wrong court--so he got off." "A very interesting acquaintance," I remarked with utterly wasted sarcasm. "They're fairly up to their necks in trouble, both of them, on the other side," Mr. Parker declared with relish; "and they're kind o' looking for it here." I took him by the arm and led him out of the bar into a retired corner of the smoking room. We sat upon a divan and had the room almost to ourselves. "How is Miss Parker this morning?" I asked. "Fine!" her father replied. "I told her about the flowers and it made her quite homesick. Girls miss that sort of thing, you know; and over here, living under a sort of cloud, as it were, one can't risk making many friends." It was a very good opening for me and I took advantage of it. "Why do you choose to live under a cloud, Mr. Parker?" I asked. "My dear fellow," he replied earnestly, "I don't altogether choose. I have been frank with you. It's my life."