Mr. Hilton was a sober-faced man of fifty-five, sallow and unhappy.

His tone was funereal and deliberate, his eyes steady and remorseless.

"Sit down, Mr. Senob," he said hollowly. "I have a message from the

lawyers, and I presume I am welcoming to this establishment the new

proprietor who has taken the place of my revered chief, whom I have

faithfully served for twenty-nine years."

Bones closed his eyes and listened as to an address of welcome.

"Personally," said Mr. Hilton, "I think that the sale of this business

is a great mistake on the part of the Siker family. The Sikers have

been detectives for four generations," he said with a relish of an

antiquarian. "George Siker first started work as an investigator in

1814 in this identical building. For thirty-five years he conducted

Siker's Confidential Bureau, and was succeeded by his son James the

grandfather of the late John George for twenty-three years----"

"Quite so, quite so," said Bones. "Poor old George! Well, well, we

can't live for ever, dear old chief of staff. Now, the thing is, how

to improve this jolly old business."

He looked around the dingy apartment without enthusiasm.

Bones had visitors that morning, many visitors. They were not, as he

had anticipated, veiled ladies or cloaked dukes, nor did they pour into

his discreet ears the stories of misspent lives.

There was Mr. Carlo Borker, of Borker's Confidential Enquiry Bureau, a

gross man in a top hat, who complained bitterly that old man Siker had

practically and to all intents and purposes offered him an option of

the business years ago.

It was a one-sided conversation.

"I says to him: 'Siker, if you ever want to sell out' ... He says to

me: 'Borker, my boy, you've only to offer me a reasonable figure' ...

I says to him: 'Now, Siker, don't ever let anybody else get this

business....'"

Then there was ex-Inspector Stellingworth, of Stellingworth's Detective

Corps, a gloomy man, who painted in the blackest colours the

difficulties and tragedies of private investigation, yet seemed willing

enough to assume the burden of Siker's Agency, and give Bones a

thousand pounds profit on his transaction.

Mr. Augustus Tibbetts spent three deliciously happy days in

reorganising the business. He purchased from the local gunsmith a

number of handcuffs, which were festooned upon the wall behind his desk

and secured secretly--since he did not think that the melancholy Mr.

Hilton would approve--a large cardboard box filled to the brim with

adjustable beards of every conceivable hue, from bright scarlet to

mouse colour.

He found time to relate to a sceptical Hamilton something of his

achievements.

"Wonderful case to-day, dear old boy," he said enthusiastically on the

third evening. "A naughty old lady has been flirting with a very, very

naughty old officer. Husband tremendously annoyed. How that man loves

that woman!"




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