"I 'ate to disturb you, gentlemen," said Mr. Puckston, making an apologetic motion. "But it's five minutes to opening-time, and… well, do you really want this parlour for a private room?"
"We sure do, son," H.M. assured him. "If that's convenient?"
"Oh, it's convenient. But I shall 'ave to charge you a good bit extra. This being Saturday night and other things. Even for the police.."
Three pairs of eyes surreptitiously watched Masters.
"Well, well!" said Masters, suddenly urbane and in his most cheerful manner. "How would you have learned I was a police-officer, now?"
"Things," said Mr. Puckston thoughtfully, "get about" He glanced up. "You ought to know that" H.M. intervened.
"He's a copper, son. But he won’t bother you. Ill see to that Anything else?"
"Well, sir. If you wouldn't mind keeping the doors locked and the curtains drawn? It's that clock. You told me you were going to take the skeleton out…" Puckston's voice trailed away; his throat seemed to be constricted.
"Yes, I see your point," nodded H.M., taking several puffs of his (to others) venomous cigar. "You think it might put the customers off their beer if they saw me sittin' here with a skeleton on my lap like a ventriloquist's dummy?"
Miss Enid Puckston suddenly giggled, and was shushed by a look from her mother. The father, for some reason, took the girl's face between his hands.