“Send for me,” repeated Dempsi deliberately. “I haven’t killed a man for years. But I will not speak of that. I am too sorry for his wife and family. I have a tender heart.” He gazed at Julius in admiration. “So you are a detective! One of that great and silent army of watchers, everlastingly on duty, standing between peaceable citizens like Guiseppi Dempsi and the vultures who prey upon society!” Dempsi held out his hand. Mr. Superbus, his eyes modestly lowered, took it. He felt for once that he was being taken at a proper valuation. Dempsi was a man of the world, a Sir Hubert whose praise was praise indeed. Julius made a mental note of the words for future exhibition. At any moment Dempsi might switch off to an unimportant subject. “Yes, it is a bit of a job,” agreed Julius. “The public don’t understand.” “They wouldn’t,” said Mr. Dempsi scornfully. “We take some risks,” Mr. Superbus went on. “You can’t get about town without taking risks--I was nearly run over by a ’bus yesterday.” Dempsi was impressed. “No!” Julius nodded. “I was--in the execution of me duty,” he said. “I saw a suspicious looking man--he looked like a fellow that had been owing me money for years--and crossed the road to have a look at him.” His gesture suggested a swerving motor ’bus. “As near as that,” he said simply but impressively. Dempsi shuddered appropriately. “Ah, it is fine work! Have you brought many men to justice? I see you have, but it is too painful to talk about. I understand your fine feelings--you are worthy.” “Well, I’ve brought them to the County Court,” said Julius. “That’s not exactly to justice. People who can’t pay their bills and owe tradesmen money.” The other regarded him in awe. “I wonder you can sleep at night,” he said in a hushed voice. Julius smiled callously. He suggested thereby that the ruin of small litigants meant less to him than the indubitable fact that flies have corns and suffer from asthma. “They never get on my mind,” he said; “and as for sleeping--I’m a pretty good sleeper; nothing disturbs me.” He hoped, at any rate, that nothing would disturb him that night, for he was sleeping on a made-up bed in The Study. It was Diana’s idea and he viewed all Diana’s ideas with a suspicion which was, it must be confessed, justifiable. “Ah, a good conscience!” said Dempsi. “What a beautiful thing!” Mr. Superbus wasn’t sure whether this admirable characteristic of his was due entirely to conscience. “A good digestion’s got something to do with it,” he said. “I’m a careful feeder.” “Tell me,” said Dempsi confidentially, “have you served her long--my queen?” Mr. Superbus called up to memory his acquaintance with contemporary history. “I thought you had a king in Italy?” he said. Dempsi laughed. “No, no, you mistake me--my sweet lady--my Diana?” he asked softly. “I am jealous of your privilege in serving her.” “Oh, you mean ma’am? No, I’ve only just got to know her.” Dempsi changed the subject abruptly.