A curious ring of satisfaction in the newcomer's voice carried a warning note with it. Dick was conscious, too, that he had departed from the new role assigned to him by his employer, yet it would be absurd to begin explaining that he was not known as Royson, but as King, in connection with von Kerber. The blunder annoyed him, and he faced his questioner squarely. "Before I give you any more information I want to know who you are," he said. His downright way of speaking appeared to carry conviction. "Well, Mr. Royson, I don't mind telling you that I am a private inquiry agent," was the ominous answer. "I am retained by a gentleman who brings a very serious charge against von Kerber, and, as I have reason to believe that you are only slightly mixed up in this affair at present, I am commissioned to offer you a handsome reward for any valuable information you may give my client or procure for him in the future." "Indeed!" said Dick, who was debating whether or not to knock the man down. "Yes. We mean business, I assure you. This is no common matter. Von Kerber is an Austrian, and my client is an Italian. Perhaps you know how they hate each other as nations, and these two have a private quarrel as well." "What does your employer want to find out?" asked Dick. "Well, as a start, he wants to know why von Kerber is shipping a crew for a yacht called the _Aphrodite_." "Then he has learned something already?" "Oh, that was too easy. Any one can pump a half-drunken sailor." The private inquiry agent spoke confidentially. He fancied he had secured the sort of aide he needed, a spy of superior intelligence. "Suppose I give you that first item of news, what is the figure?" "Say a fiver." "But I am almost willing to pay that much for the pleasure of spreading your nose over your face." There was a sudden gap between the two. Perhaps the stranger felt that the rawness of the atmosphere demanded brisk movement. "Oh, is that it?" snarled he. "Yes, that is it." "You had better be careful what you are doing." Dick had advanced a pace, but the agent sheered off twice as far, as though the air between them was not only cold but resilient. "I shall be quite careful. Just one small punch, say a sovereign's worth. Come, that is cheap enough." Then the man ran off at top speed. Royson could have caught him in a few strides, but he did not move. He had not meant to hit, only to scare, yet the incident was perplexing, and the more he pondered over it the less pleased he was at his own lack of finesse, as he might have learnt something without fear of indiscretion, seeing that he had nothing to tell. Nevertheless, his final decision was in favor of the first impulse. Von Kerber had treated him with confidence--why should he wish to possess any disturbing knowledge of von Kerber?