Sowerby and Stringer looked at one another, perplexedly. Each man finished his drink in silence. Then: “What took place in Paris?” began Sowerby. There was an interruption. A stooping figure in a shabby, black frock-coat, the figure of a man who wore a dilapidated bowler pressed down upon his ears, who had a greasy, Semitic countenance, with a scrubby, curling, sandy colored beard, sparse as the vegetation of a desert, appeared at Sowerby's elbow. He carried a brimming pewter pot. This he set down upon a corner of the table, depositing himself in a convenient chair and pulling out a very dirty looking letter from an inside pocket. He smoothed it carefully. He peered, little-eyed, from the frowning face of Dunbar to the surprised countenance of Sowerby, and smiled with native amiability at the dangerous-looking Stringer. “Excuthe me,” he said, and his propitiatory smile was expansive and dazzling, “excuthe me buttin' in like thith. It theemth rude, I know--it doth theem rude; but the fact of the matter ith I'm a tailor--thath's my pithneth, a tailor. When I thay a tailor, I really mean a breecheth-maker--tha'th what I mean, a breecheth-maker. Now thethe timeth ith very hard timeth for breecheth-makerth.”... Dunbar finished his whisky, and quietly replaced the glass upon the table, looking from Sowerby to Stringer with unmistakable significance. Stringer emptied his glass of rum, and Sowerby disposed of his stout. “I got thith letter lath night,” continued the breeches-maker, bending forward confidentially over the table. (The document looked at least twelve months old.) “I got thith letter latht night with thethe three fiverth in it; and not havin' no friendth in London--I'm an American thitithen, by birth,--Levinthky, my name ith--Abraham Levinthky--I'm a Noo Englander. Well, not havin' no friendth in London, and theein' you three gentlemen thittin' here, I took the liberty”... Dunbar stood up, glared at Levinsky, and stalked out of the billiard-room, followed by his equally indignant satellites. Having gained the outer door: “Of all the blasted impudence!” he said, turning to Sowerby and Stringer; but there was a glint of merriment in the fierce eyes. “Can you beat that? Did you tumble to his game?” Sowerby stared at Stringer, and Stringer stared at Sowerby. “Except,” began the latter in a voice hushed with amazement, “that he's got the coolest cheek of any mortal being I ever met.”... Dunbar's grim face relaxed, and he laughed boyishly, his square shoulders shaking. “He was leading up to the confidence trick!” he said, between laughs. “Damn it all, man, it was the old confidence trick! The idea of a confidence-merchant spreading out his wares before three C. I. D. men!” He was choking with laughter again; and now, Sowerby and Stringer having looked at one another for a moment, the surprised pair joined him in his merriment. They turned up their collars and went out into the rain, still laughing.