“I haven’t made a million out of that business,” he said, “but it amuses me, Mr. Elk. I am something of a philosopher.” He lit a cigar and settled himself comfortably in a deep, chintz-covered arm-chair, his legs crossed, the picture of contentment. “As an American, I am interested in social problems, and I have found that the best way to understand the very poor of any country is to get right down amongst them.” His tone was easy, apologetic, but quite self-possessed. “I think I forestalled any question on your part as to whether I had a licence in my own name, by telling you that I had.” Elk settled his glasses more firmly on his nose, and his eyes strayed to Mr. Broad’s pocket, whither the pistol had returned. “This is a pretty free country,” he said in his deliberate way, “and a man can peddle key-rings, even if he’s a member of the House of Lords. But one thing he mustn’t do, Mr. Broad, is to stick fire-arms under the noses of respectable policemen.” Broad chuckled. “I’m afraid I was a little rattled,” he said. “But the truth is, I’ve been waiting for the greater part of an hour, expecting somebody to come to my door, and when I heard your stealthy footsteps”—he shrugged—“it was a fool mistake for a grown man to make,” he said, “and I guess I’m feeling as badly about it as you would have me feel.” The unwavering eyes of Mr. Elk did not leave his face. “I won’t insult your intelligence by asking you if you were expecting a friend,” he said. “But I should like to know the name of the other guest.” “So should I,” said the other, “and so would a whole lot of people.” He reached out his hand to flick the ash from his cigar, looking at Elk thoughtfully the while. “I was expecting a man who has every reason to be very much afraid of me,” he said. “His name is—well, it doesn’t matter, and I’ve only met him once in my life, and then I didn’t see his face.” “And you beat him up?” suggested Elk. The other man laughed. “I didn’t even beat him up. In fact, I behaved most generously to him,” he said quietly. “I was not with him more than five minutes, in a darkened room, the only light being a lantern which was on the table. And I guess that’s about all I can tell you, Inspector.” “Sergeant,” murmured Elk. “It’s curious the number of people who think I’m an Inspector.” There was an awkward pause. Elk could think of no other questions he wanted to ask, and his host displayed as little inclination to advance any further statement. “Neighbour friends of yours?” asked Elk, and jerked his head toward the passage. “Who—Bassano and her friend? No. Are you after them?” he asked quickly. Elk shook his head. “Making a friendly call,” he said. “Just that. I’ve just come back from your country, Mr. Broad. A good country, but too full of distances.” He ruminated, looking down at the carpet for a long time, and presently he said: “I’d like to meet that friend of yours, Mr. Broad—American?”