that you also will do. You will have
observed that there are two parties to every bargain. First of all, my
duties?"

The man in the chair leant back and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"I am the editor of a little paper which circulates exclusively amongst
the servants of the upper classes," he said. "I receive from time to
time interesting communications concerning the aristocracy and gentry of
this country, written by hysterical French maids and revengeful Italian
valets. I am not a good linguist, and I feel that there is much in these
epistles which I miss and which I should not miss."

The new-comer nodded.

"I therefore want somebody of discretion who will deal with my foreign
correspondence, make a fair copy in English and summarize the complaints
which these good people make. You quite understand," he said with a
shrug of his shoulders, "that mankind is not perfect, less perfect is
womankind, and least perfect is that section of mankind which employs
servants. They usually have stories to tell not greatly to their
masters' credit, not nice stories, you understand, my dear friend. By
the way, what is your name?"

The stranger hesitated.

"Poltavo," he said after a pause.

"Italian or Pole?" asked the other.

"Pole," replied Poltavo readily.

"Well, as I was saying," the editor went on, "we on this paper are very
anxious to secure news of society doings. If they are printable, we
print them; if they are not printable"--he paused--"we do not print
them. But," he raised a warning forefinger, "the fact that particulars
of disgraceful happenings are not fit for publication must not induce
you to cast such stories into the wastepaper basket. We keep a record
of such matters for our own private amusement." He said this latter
airily, but Poltavo was not deceived.

Again there was a long silence whilst the man at the table ruminated.

"Where do you live?" he asked.

"On the fourth floor of a small house in Bloomsbury," replied Poltavo.

The veiled figure nodded.

"When did you come to this country?"

"Six months ago."

"Why?"

Poltavo shrugged his shoulders.

"Why?" insisted the man at the table.

"A slight matter of disagreement between myself and the admirable chief
of police of Sans Sebastian," he said as airily as the other.

Again the figure nodded.

"If you had told me anything else, I should not have engaged you," he
said.

"Why?" asked Poltavo in surprise.

"Because you are spe