It is, of course, unusual for a policeman to be the especial friend of a bank manager; but then, Inspector Teal's friends were a queerly mixed crowd. Blaythwayt was reading a novel with a distinctly intriguing cover, but he put it away on Teal's arrival. "That book," he said, jerking a disgusted thumb in the direction of the offending volume, "that book is supposed to deal with the exploits of a master criminal, and already he's made four mistakes which even a policeman couldn't miss." Teal grinned languidly and took his usual chair. "You'd better write a book yourself and show 'em how to do it." "I've started!" announced Joe. "Two minds, etcetera. It'll be the greatest detective story ever written. Everyone will buy it." "Will anybody publish it?" inquired the practical Mr. Teal. "How do you get a book published?" asked Blaythwayt. "Send it to a publisher and enclose enough stamps to pay for him sending it back," pronounced the detective, and Joe's round face lengthened as he visualised the sordid difficulties of a literary career. But he soon brightened up. "It'll be great," he enthused. "I'm writing it in the first person, and I shall commit impossible crimes. I shall never be caught." "Let's hope not," grunted Teal. "I'd hate having to arrest you. Besides, crooks are only romantic characters in fiction." "It'll be in the form of a diary, and----" "Where are the cards?" asked Mr. Teal slumbrously. During the intervals of the game, he recounted his experiences of the day, for Blaythwayt was a great student of contemporary crime. Also, he delighted his friend by telling him that a real live criminal had consented to be at home when they called. "I think you must peeve Snooper," said Blaythwayt. "You do try the magazine detective stunt--trying to make people think you know everything." "Nearly everything," corrected Teal modestly. "If you know everything you know nearly everything," said Joe sententiously, and Mr. Teal stared at him. "You've been going to one of these modern plays," he accused. "I've been studying the stage with a view to dramatising my book. That sort of thing goes well. Look at _Raffles_." "You didn't write _Raffles_," said Mr. Teal crushingly. They played out two more hands in silence, and then Blaythwayt looked up brightly. "At least," he said, "I can stump you." "Carry on," suggested Teal. "Who is Christopher Arden?" "My chief, _pro tem_. He got into Special Branch through the Assistant Commissioner, and he's all right--you can take that from me. He's one of these tough young soldiers of fortune. He'll never settle down. He joined up in the ranks at sixteen, and came out at the end of the war a captain. Ever met him?" "No."