When the happy Alan Hawke tapped the smoker smartly on the shoulder he first laid a finger on his own lip and then hastily said: "Get a private room, Jack, I want you at once.

I've a special bit of business in your line." Major Alan Hawke, Temporary Rank, unattached, hastily bade the boni-face serve the best supper available for two.
"Mind you, no poison in the wine!" he sharply said.
"We've the best vintages of London Docks," grinned the happy host, as he sped away and left the two scoundrels alone.
"What are you doing now, Jack ?" queried Hawke.
"Nothing," sullenly replied the middle-aged star of the swell mob.

"My eyes! you are in great form," he admiringly commented.
"Can you leave town for a week or so, on a little job for me ?" briskly continued the Major.
"Ready money ?" said "Gentleman Jack" Blunt, stroking out a pair of glossy side whiskers.
"Yes, cash in plenty on hand, and lots more in sight," imperatively replied the Major.
"Do I work with you, or alone ?" asked Blunt.
"It's a little private investigation," replied Hawke, "and as I have to leave town to-night, and spend a couple of months on the Continent, you are the very man.

I am afraid to appear in the thing myself, as I am well known to the other parties, and so I fear being followed over the Channel.

I'm back again in the army." Jack's eyes grew larger in a trice.
"Here comes the grub," gayly said Blunt.