"I was being arrested," he said solemnly. "The charge was barratry, champerty, and attempted gum-boils, with complications. I explained that I was a Quaker and had never eaten tripe, so after ringing up Carter Paterson's to verify my alibi they let me go." "I know he was a detective, because he's been in to see Lord Hannassay. Have you become a detective?" "Not yet," he assured her, "though I hope to rise to that later. At present I'm looking for a job. I suppose you couldn't get me a master carpenter's ticket or a wood-repairer's diploma, could you?" "What on earth do you want that for?" she asked, and Storm laughed. "I'm interested in a saw-mill," he said gravely, "and I want to get inside it. Unfortunately the owner discourages visitors--and I'm curious! I want to rubber round that saw-mill! Why have a saw-mill in Billingsgate? Why not in Tottenham Court Road or Bloomsbury? They're just as aristocratic." That faint smile of his flickered on his lips provocatively, and she knew him too well to question him further. "A man's been following me about all day," she told him later. "I don't know what he wants, but he worries me. He hasn't tried to speak to me or anything like that--just trails round behind me wherever I go." "I'm being followed too," he said with a lightness he didn't feel. "And my man isn't a detective, either! I'll tell you--we're beautiful, and he's an artist. We shall be on the walls of Burlington House next year. Or have you been married secretly and are we going to be compromised?" "Stop fooling, Storm," she commanded. He grinned. "My dear soul, what else can one do? I'll push your little playmate's face in if you like, but you'll only have another man in his place to-morrow. Everybody's being followed--it must be a new game! Raegenssen's being followed, and Sir John Marker's being followed, and Joe Blaythwayt's being followed, and John Cardan's being followed, and Sir John Marker's private secretary's being followed, and I'm being followed, and Inspector Teal's being followed, and----" "Don't you know what's at the back of it?" "I know what, but I'd perjure my soul to know who!" said Storm. "And I take back what I said the other day. Respectability's exciting! It's the fiercest sport in the whole wide world bar haggis-shooting! Everyone's turning respectable now, even the crooks, just for the fun of the thing. Just look over to your right--that little cherub at the next table but one. See him? He's my little pet! My name's Mary, and he's a scorching lamb. We're inseparable, like Castor and Pollux or Swan and Edgar." He waved a friendly hand to the small neatly dressed man at the adjoining table, and grinned when his salutation was coldly ignored. The girl was mystified. "Who's that?" she asked. "He looks the most respectable man in the place."