"Delighted, I am very sure!" Mr. Giatron exclaimed, bowing to all of us. "It will be a great pleasure to us to do the very best possible for any of Louis' friends." Mr. Bundercombe rose to his feet. He pointed to the little glass-framed office at the other side of the room. "Mr. Giatron," he said, "I have always been a great patron of Louis. You and I must have a chat. Will you not invite us into your little office and show us whether there is not something better to be found than this coffee? We will take a glass of brandy together and drink success to your restaurant." Giatron hastened to lead the way. Eve, in response to a glance from her father, remained at the table; but I followed Mr. Bundercombe. We went into the office; Giatron himself placed three glasses upon the desk and produced from a cupboard a bottle of what appeared to be very superior brandy. Mr. Bundercombe sipped his with relish. Then he glanced at the closed door. "Mr. Giatron," he began, "I have been having a chat with Louis. He has told me of his troubles--told me the reason for his leaving Luigi and accepting this post with you." Giatron paused, with the bottle suspended in mid-air. He slowly set it down. A frown appeared on his face. "Mind you," Mr. Bundercombe continued, "I am not sympathizing with Louis. If what he said is true I am inclined to think you have been very merciful." Giatron recovered his confidence. "He tried--Louis tried--my old friend," he complained, "to take advantage of me; to enrich himself at my expense by means of a false note." "That is the only point," Mr. Bundercombe said. "Was the note bad? Do you know I can scarcely bring myself to believe it!" The restaurant keeper smiled. Very deliberately he produced a great bunch of keys from his pocket and opened the safe, which stood in a corner of the office. Mr. Bundercombe whispered a scarcely audible word in my ear and became absorbed once more in the brandy. Presently Giatron returned. He laid on the desk and smoothed out carefully what was to all appearances a ten-pound note. "If you will examine that carefully, sir," he begged, "you will see that it is the truth. That note, he is very well made; but he is not a good Bank of England note." Mr. Bundercombe slowly adjusted his glasses, placed the note in front of him and smoothed it carefully with his large hand. "This is very interesting," he murmured. "Allow me to make a close examination. I've seen some high-class printing in my----" Giatron started as though he were shot and jumped round toward me. With unpardonable clumsiness I had upset my glass in leaning over to look at the note. "I'm awfully sorry!" I exclaimed, glancing ruefully at my trousers. "Would you give me a napkin quickly?" Giatron hastened to the door of the office and called to a passing waiter. The napkin was soon procured and I rubbed myself dry. The restaurant keeper returned to the desk at Mr. Bundercombe's side.