"Who?" asked Polly. "Mr Jobling—the man who's gone out?"
"No. I mean Mr Bellowes."
"I'm sure I don't know," she said a little distantly. "Those gentlemen over there"—nodding to a corner of the bar where two men stood in the shadows—"can tell you all about him. They were telling me something about him just before you came in. Fourpence, please."
Humphrey took with him his glass of beer, and went to the two men. They were both drinking whisky, and they seemed to be in a good humour. They turned at Humphrey's wavering "Excuse me...."
"Eh?" said one of the men.
"Excuse me..." Humphrey repeated. "I'm told you knew Mr Bellowes."
"Well," said the other man, a little truculently. "What if we did?"
It seemed to Humphrey that the most absolute frankness was desirable here.
"Look here," he said, "I wish you'd help me by telling me something about him. Here's my card.... I'm on The Day."
The younger of the two men smiled, and winked. "You've got a nerve," he said. "Why, you couldn't print it if we told you."