"For some time I hesitated how to change it. Then one day I came here to see my friend Giatron--we came together from Italy. I hand him the note. I ask him please change. He give me the change and I stay to have a drink with the head waiter, who is a friend of mine. Presently Giatron comes out. He calls me into the office. Then I begin to tremble. He looks at me and I tremble more. "Then he knows that he have got me. Giatron's a very cruel man, Mr. Bundercombe. He make hard terms. He made me give up my good place at Luigi's. He made me come here and be his head man. He gives me half as much as Luigi and there are no tips; besides which the place offends me every moment of the day. The service, the food, the wines--everything is cheap and bad. I take no pride in my work. "I go to Giatron and I pray him to let me go. But not so! I know my work well. He thinks that I will bring clients. Nowhere else could he get a head man so good as I at the wages of a common waiter. So I stay here--a slave!" The man's story was finished. In a sense it seemed ordinary enough, and yet both Eve and I felt a curious thrill of sympathy as he finished. There was something almost dramatic in the man's sad voice, his depressed bearing, the story of this tragedy that had come so suddenly into his life. One looked round and realized the truth of all he had said. One realized something, even, of the bitterness of his daily life. Mr. Bundercombe sipped his coffee thoughtfully. "Tell me why you did not come to me or write, Louis?" he asked. The man stretched out his hands. "But it was to you, sir, that I had broken my word!" he pointed out. "When you gave me that first little bundle you looked at me so steadfastly--when you told me that every scrap was to be destroyed; and I promised--I promised you faithfully. And you asked me afterward about that last batch. You said to me: 'Louis, you are sure that they are all quite gone? Remember that there is trouble in the possession of them!' And I told you a lie!" Mr. Bundercombe coughed and poured himself out a little more of the coffee. "Louis," he declared, "you are a fool! You are a blithering idiot! You are a jackass! It never occurred to me before. I am the guilty one for placing such a temptation in your way. Now where's this Monsieur Giatron of yours?" Louis looked at him wonderingly. There was a dawn of hope in his face, blended with a startled fear. "He arrives in ten minutes," he announced. "He comes down for the supper. He is here." Mr. Bundercombe glanced round. A stout man, with a black mustache, had entered the room. His eyes fell at once on the little group. Mr. Bundercombe turned round. "So that is Monsieur Giatron?" Louis bowed. Mr. Bundercombe beckoned the proprietor to approach. "An old patron of Luigi's," Mr. Bundercombe explained, introducing himself--"come round to see our friend Louis, here."