“Good evening, Mr. Bampton,” said Harley genially. “I take it”--pointing to the newspaper--“that you are looking for a new job?” Bampton stared, a suspicion of anger in his eyes, then, meeting the amused glance of my friend, he broke into a smile very pleasing and humorous. He was a fresh-coloured young fellow with hair inclined to redness, and smiling he looked very boyish indeed. “I have no idea who you are,” he said, speaking with a faint north-country accent, “but you evidently know who I am and what has happened to me.” “Got the boot?” asked Harley confidentially. Bampton, tossing the end of his cigarette into the grate, nodded grimly. “You haven't told me your name,” he said, “but I think I can tell you your business.” He ceased smiling. “Now look here, I don't want any more publicity. If you think you are going to make a funny newspaper story out of me change your mind as quick as you like. I'll never get another job in London as it is. If you drag me any further into the limelight I'll never get another job in England.” “My dear fellow,” replied Harley soothingly, at the same time extending his cigarette-case, “you misapprehend the object of my call. I am not a reporter.” “What!” said Bampton, pausing in the act of taking a cigarette, “then what the devil are you?” “My name is Paul Harley, and I am a criminal investigator.” He spoke the words deliberately, having his eyes fixed upon the other's face; but although Bampton was palpably startled there was no trace of fear in his straightforward glance. He took a cigarette from the case, and: “Thanks, Mr. Harley,” he said. “I cannot imagine what business has brought you here.” “I have come to ask you two questions,” was the reply. “Number one: Who paid you to smash Major Ragstaff's white hat? Number two: How much did he pay you?” To these questions I listened in amazement, and my amazement was evidently shared by Bampton. He had been in the act of lighting his cigarette, but he allowed the match to burn down nearly to his fingers and then dropped it with a muttered exclamation in the fire. Finally: “I don't know how you found out,” he said, “but you evidently know the truth. Provided you assure me that you are not out to make a silly-season newspaper story, I'll tell you all I know.” Harley laid his card on the table, and: “Unless the ends of justice demand it,” he said, “I give you my word that anything you care to say will go no further. You may speak freely before my friend, Mr. Knox. Simply tell me in as few words as possible what led you to court arrest in that manner.” “Right,” replied Bampton, “I will.” He half closed his eyes, reflectively. “I was having tea in the Lyons' cafe, to which I always go, last Monday afternoon about four o'clock, when a man sat down facing me and got into conversation.” “Describe him!”