an "Ouch!" to suck away the pain--"let me tell you that, as the
Latin poet said, '_Ad What's-his name, ad Thiggumy_.' 'Everything
human's frightfully interesting'!"

Bones turned up at his detective office the next morning, full of zeal,
and Hilton immediately joined him in his private office.

"Well, we finish one case to-day, I think," said Hilton with
satisfaction. "It has been very hard trailing him, but I got a good
man on the job, and here's the record."

He held in his hand a sheaf of papers.

"Very good," said Bones. "Excellent! I hope we shall bring the
malefactor to justice."

"He's not exactly a malefactor," demurred Hilton. "It is a job we were
doing for one of our best clients."

"Excellent, excellent!" murmured Bones. "And well we've done it, I'm
sure." He leant back in his chair and half closed his eyes. "Tell me
what you have discovered."

"This man's a bit of a fool in some ways," said Hilton.

"Which man--the client?"

"No, the fellow we've been trailing."

"Yes, yes," said Bones. "Go on."

"In fact, I wonder that Mr. de Vinne bothered about him."

"De Vinne?" said Bones sitting up. "Harold de Vinne, the moneyed one?"

"That's him. He's one of our oldest customers," said Hilton.

"Indeed," said Bones, this time without any enthusiasm at all.

"You see, a man did him in the eye," explained Mr. Hilton, "swindled
him, and all that sort of thing. Well, I think we have got enough to
make this chap look silly."

"Oh, yes," said Bones politely. "What have you got?"

"Well, it appears," said Hilton, "that this chap is madly in love with
his typist."

"Which chap?" said Bones.

"The fellow who did Mr. de Vinne in the eye," replied the patient Mr.
Hilton. "He used to be an officer on the West Coast of Africa, and was
known as Bones. His real name is Tibbetts."

"Oh yes," said Bones.

"Well, we've found out all about him," continued Hilton. "He's got a
flat in Jermyn Street, and this girl of his, this typist girl, dines
with him. She's not a bad-looking girl, mind you."

Bones rose to his feet, and there was in his face a terrible look.

"Hilton," he said, "do you mean that you have been shadowing a
perfectly innocent man and a charming, lovely old typewriter, that
couldn't say 'Goo' to a boose?"

Bones was pardonably agitated.

"Do you mean to tell me that this office descends to this low practice
of prying into the private lives of virtuous gentlemen and typewrit