Gibbs answered the greeting soberly, and then, at a sign from the man, stepped aside rather reluctantly and whispered with him. Dean eyed them narrowly, took in the fellow’s attire from his straw hat to his damp shoes, and, when he could catch Gibbs’s eye, he crooked his left arm, touched it significantly, and lifted his eyebrows in sign of question. Gibbs shook his head in a negative that had a touch of contempt for the implication, and then drew the man toward the bar. Without the man’s seeing him or hearing him, Dean touched his arm again and said to Gibbs softly: "Elbow?" "No," said Gibbs, "reporter." Then he turned and, speaking to the new-comer, he presented him to Dean, saying: "Mr. Jordon, make you acquainted with Mr. Wales, of the _Courier_." "Glad to meet you, Mr. Jordon," said the newspaper man. "Ah, chawmed, I’m suah," said Dean, keeping to the English accent he had just been using. "I say, won’t you join us?" The bartender, at a glance from Dean, produced another bottle of champagne; the newspaper man’s eyes glistened with pleasure, Dean was taking out his cigarette case. Wales glanced at the cigarettes, and Dean hastened to proffer them. In conversation with the reporter Dean impersonated an English follower of the turf who had brought some horses to America. As he did this, actor that he was, he became more and more interested in his impromptu monologue, assumed the character perfectly and lived into it, and the others there who knew of the deceit he was practising on the reporter--he was nearly always practising some sort of deceit, but seldom so innocently as now--were utterly delighted; they listened to his guying until nearly midnight, when Dean, having sustained the character of the Englishman for more than two hours, grew weary and said he must go. As he was leaving he said to the reporter: "You’ve been across, of course? No? Well, really now, that’s quite too bad, don’t you know! But I say, whenever you come, you must look me up, if you don’t mind, at Tarlingham Towers. I’ve a bit of a place down in the Surrey country; I’ve a beast there that’s just about up to your weight. Have you ever ridden to the hounds?" The reporter was delighted; he felt that a distinction had been conferred upon him. Wishing to show his appreciation, he asked Dean, or Jordan, as he was to him, if he might print an interview. Dean graciously consented, and the reporter left for his office, glad of a story with which to justify to his city editor, at least partly, his wasted evening. When Dean had gone, taking his three companions with him, Gibbs and Mason sat for a long while in the back room. "So that’s Eddie Dean!" said Mason. "Yes," said Gibbs, "that’s him." "And what’s his graft?" "Oh," said Gibbs, "the send, the bull con, the big mitt, the cross lift--anything in that line." "And those two other guys with him?" asked Mason. "That little one is Willie the Rat, the other is Gaffney." "Sure-thing men, too?"