“And is,” said Chimp severely. “I am five-foot-seven myself. Wilbraham and Donahue, the best men on my staff, are an inch and half an inch shorter. You cannot gauge brains by height.” “No, indeed,” said Lord Tilbury, who was five-feet-six. “Look at Napoleon! And Nelson!” “Exactly,” said Chimp. “Battling Nelson. A very good case in point. And Tom Sharkey was a short man too.... Well, what was it you wished to consult me about, Mr.---- I have not your name.” Lord Tilbury hesitated. “I take it that I may rely on your complete discretion, Mr. Adair?” “Nothing that you tell me in this room will go any farther,” said Chimp, with dignity. “I am Lord Tilbury,” said His Lordship, looking like a man unveiling a statue of himself. “The proprietor of the joint across the way?” “Exactly,” said Lord Tilbury a little shortly. He had expected his name to cause more emotion, and he did not like hearing the Mammoth Publishing Company described as “the joint across the way.” He would have been gratified had he known that his companion had experienced considerable emotion and that it was only by a strong effort that he had contrived to conceal it. He might have been less pleased if he had been aware that Chimp was confidently expecting him to reveal some disgraceful secret which would act as the foundation for future blackmail. For although, in establishing his detective agency, Chimp Twist had been animated chiefly by the desire to conceal his more important movements, he had never lost sight of the fact that there are possibilities in such an institution. “And what can I do for you, Lord Tilbury?” he asked, putting his finger tips together. His Lordship bent closer. “I want a man watched.” Once again his companion was barely able to conceal his elation. This sounded exceptionally promising. Though only an imitation private detective, Chimp Twist had a genuine private detective’s soul. He could imagine but one reason why men should want men watched. “A boy on the staff of Tilbury House.” “Ah!” said Chimp, more convinced than ever. “Good-looking fellow, I suppose?” Lord Tilbury considered. He had never had occasion to form an opinion of Sam’s looks. “Yes,” he said. “One of these lounge lizards, eh? One of these parlour tarantulas? I know the sort--know ’em well. One of these slithery young-feller-me-lads with educated feet and shiny hair. And when did the dirty work start?” “I beg your pardon?” “When did you first suspect this young man of alienating Lady Tilbury’s affections?” “Lady Tilbury? I don’t understand you. I am a widower.” “Eh? Then what’s this fellow done?” said Chimp, feeling at sea again. Lord Tilbury coughed.