“These gaspers; I used to smoke them in the old days. Had ’em imported from Cairo. You can’t buy them here, at least you couldn’t when I--retired. Heigho! Am I being very sorry for myself again? That stung! I loathe these self-pitiers, and it was a revelation to discover that I had gone over to the majority.” He lit the cigarette and drew luxuriously. “This is rather wonderful,” he said. “Have you had any food?” she asked. He nodded. “I dined like a Sybarite, at a small shop in the Blackfriars Road. The dinner cost sixpence; it was rather an extravagance, but I felt I needed bracing for this ordeal.” “You have no lodging?” He shook his head. “No, I have no lodging.” He was twiddling his long, thin fingers. She noted with satisfaction that his hands were scrupulously clean, and again he seemed to divine her thoughts, for he looked down at them. “I don’t exactly know what information I can give you, if it is information you require, and if you had been a male-of-the-species policeman I should have declined your invitation rather loftily! But a woman policeman is unique. I’ve seen them, of course--rather fat little bodies with squat little helmets. I suppose they’re useful.” He noticed that she herself was not smoking, and commented upon it. “No, I very rarely smoke,” she said. And then, in a changed tone: “Do you mind if I speak very plainly?” “The plainer the better,” he said, and he leaned back in his chair and sent a cloud of smoke to the ceiling. “I dare say you’ll be forced to walk London to-night?” “It has become a habit,” said Peter Dawlish. “And really, it would be rather amusing if one weren’t so horribly tired. They gave me a little money when I left prison--not much. One gets quite a lot of sleep in the daytime, especially the sunny days, in odd corners of the parks. And on rainy nights I know a gardener’s tool house, which is not perhaps to be compared with the bridal suite at an expensive hotel, but is cosy. I slept there last night with an ex-colonel of infantry and a lawyer who lived in the same ward at Dartmoor.” She eyed him steadily. “To-night you will sleep decently,” she said, in her quiet, even tone; “and to-morrow you will buy a new suit of clothes and interview your father.” He raised his eyebrows, amusement in his eyes. “I didn’t realize that you had scraped down to the family skeleton,” he said. “And why am I to do this, Miss Maughan? The suit of clothes would be a waste of money; my parent would not be impressed by my appearance of affluence. Rather he would imagine that I had found another good-natured gentleman who trusted me with his check book. Furthermore, all this would cost money; and I think you should know, before we go any further, that I am not taking any money from you on any pretext.”