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"He looks more like a clever comic to me. As for the marvellous Paris methods we've heard so much about, I should say they're twenty years out of date."

"That's as may be. But his English compares verra favorably wi' your French."

"H'm—" the evening paper disappeared into a pocket of Bluett's grey trousers—"I'm none too sure about the French these days. You've only got to look at their history to see what I mean."

"French history has its dark spots, Bluett. But I could remark that England has black patches. I was thinking about the execution o' King Charles."

"Scotland too," said Bluett helpfully. "I was thinking about the massacre of Glencoe."

The 'phone buzzed. Sergeant Bluett groaned. Chief Inspector Firth, frowning, took up the instrument.

"Yes, sir. Firth here." He framed his lips in an unspoken word, whereby Sergeant Bluett became aware of the fact that the caller was Assistant Commissioner Colonel J.N.G. O'Halloran—affectionately known as Jingo, and probably the most popular of Scotland Yard's senior officers. "Sergeant Bluett is in my office. Yes, sir,—I will be along at once."