"But now, look here," he said cautiously. "Supposing I was a spy, as you might say, and supposing I was to go straight off and tell the police about what you've been saying?"
"Ah!" said Jukes, "suppose you did, eh? Well, supposing something nasty didn't happen to you on the way there—which I wouldn't answer for, mind——"
"Do you mean to say you've got me watched?"
"You can bet your sweet life we have. Yes. Well, supposing nothing happened on the way there, and you was to bring the slops to this pub, looking for yours truly——"
"Yes?"
"You wouldn't find me, that's all. I should have gone to Number Five."
"Who's Number Five?"
"Ah! I don't know. But he's the man that makes you a new face while you wait. Plastic surgery, they call it. And new finger-prints. New everything. We go in for up-to-date methods in our show."
Rogers whistled.
"Well, how about it?" asked Jukes, eyeing his acquaintance over the rim of his tumbler.