“Quite impossible, sir,” said the large solicitor cheerfully. “I have some long medical evidence. Dr. Fortune, Miss Bolton’s physician. The first medical man who saw the lady. The first medical man who saw Miss Weston.” The court rose. Reggie, with Gordon at his heels, went out by the solicitor’s door and found Superintendent Bell waiting for him. “Now are you playing the game, doctor?” said Superintendent Bell sadly. “For keeps,” Reggie laughed. “Come and dine with me. Bring Mordan. He’s so genial.” “We do have to take these little things so seriously,” the Superintendent murmured. But a party of four, the Superintendent and the large Inspector, Reggie and the little Jew, packed themselves into a taxi-cab and drove into town. Reggie was full of elegant conversation. He grew iris, and told them all about iris, with appendices on the costumes in revue. Once or twice Superintendent Bell tried to turn his attention to serious subjects. Vainly. At last Inspector Mordan broke out with, “I say, doctor, what’s the wheeze about the coffee?” “The Inspector touches the spot. Care not, all will be known ere long. There’s a jolly little iris from the Himalayas----” Reggie returned with enthusiasm to horticulture. “Where are you taking us, doctor?” said the Superintendent. The taxi, which had for some little time been running through the city, seemed to intend coming out on the other side--a locality promising no good dinner. As he spoke, it turned into Liverpool Street Station. “Liverpool Street, by George!” the Inspector said. “This is a bean-feast. Going to take us to Epping Forest, doctor?” “We may have to go farther,” Reggie said, and Gordon laughed. “Are you in this, sir?” The Inspector turned on him. “Professional secret, dear boy.” Reggie led the way to the station dining-room. “I don’t know the cook. But let’s hope for the best. A tirin’ day, an active evening. Strength is what we need. Strength without somnolence. Salmon, I see. Lamb chops, I would add. One of your younger ducks would comfort me. Do you sleep after Burgundy, Inspector? A warm night, as you say. Larose is a genial claret. Let us all be genial.” “Well, you’re a bit supercilious,” the Inspector complained. “How can you say so? I am keeping all the glory for you. Glory on ice. All ready for Inspector Mordan. So gather you roses while you may. Talking of roses, what do you think of the hybrid Austrian briers?” He explained what he thought of them to a silent audience, sliding gracefully into an appreciation of salmon eaten at Waterford, at Exeter, and at Berwick. Few are the men who will not talk about food. The detectives produced much valuable experience of bourgeois cookery, and the dinner went merrily. In its later stages Reggie became silent and watched the clock. He seemed to grudge Inspector Mordan his cheese, and as soon as it was swallowed made a move. “Well, doctor, I did think we should have had some coffee,” the Inspector chuckled.