"My young friend," Mr. Parker said, eying with approval the fresh portion of chicken that had been brought him, "it is my business to know many things. I go about the world with my eyes and ears open. Things that escape other people interest me. Your name is Mr. Paul Walmsley. You are one of a class of men that practically doesn't exist in America. You have no particular occupation that I know of, save that you have a small estate in the country, which no doubt takes up some of your time. You have rooms in London, which you occupy occasionally. You probably write a little--I have noticed that you are fond of watching people." "You really seem to know a good deal about me," I confessed, a little taken aback. "I am not far from the mark, am I?" "You are not," I admitted. "As regards your lack of occupation," Mr. Parker went on, "I am not the man to blame you for it. There are very few things in life a man can settle down to nowadays. To a person of imagination the ordinary routine of the professions and the ordinary curriculum of business life is a species of slavery. We live in overcivilized times. There seems to be very little room anywhere for a man to gratify his natural instincts for change and adventure." I murmured my acquiescence with his sentiments and my companion paused for a few minutes, his whole attention devoted to his dinner. "Might one inquire," I asked, after a brief pause, "as to your own profession? You are an American, are you not?" "I am most certainly an American," Mr. Parker assented. "In business?" I asked. Mr. Parker looked round. Our table was comparatively isolated. "I am an adventurer," he replied mysteriously. I stared at him and repeated the word. He beamed pleasantly upon me. "An adventurer! My daughter, whom you have seen here with me, is an adventuress. We live by our wits and we do pretty well at it. Sometimes we live in luxury. Sometimes we are up against it good and hard. The Ritz one day, you know, and Bloomsbury the next; but lots of fun all the time." I looked at him a little blankly. "To a certain extent I suppose you are joking?" I asked. "To no extent at all," he assured me. "By the by, as regards that packet; would you mind just slipping it under this newspaper?" I withdrew it from my pocket and obeyed him at once. Mr. Parker's fingers seemed to play with it for a moment and I noticed at that moment what a strong and capable hand he seemed to have, with fingers of unusual length and suppleness. A dark faced _maitre d'hotel_, who presided over our portion of the room, came up smiling, with an inquiry as to our coffee. He exchanged a casual sentence or two with Mr. Parker, bowed and passed on. Mr. Parker, a moment later, with a little smile lifted the newspaper. The packet had disappeared. He noticed my look of surprise and seemed gratified.