"But what?—By the way, which waiter is it you spoke to. I had a talk with the head man there yesterday, and he didn't seem to know anything about it."
"No—it wasn't the head waiter. One of the others. The plump, dark one."
"All right. I'll find the right one. Now, will you see to the Charing Cross end?"
"Of course—if you really think it's any good."
"Yes, I do. Right you are. I'll get hold of the 'tec and send him along to you, and you can arrange with him."
"Very well."
"Cheerio!"
Lord Peter rang off and sat for a few moments, grinning to himself. Then he turned to Bunter.
"I don't often prophesy, Bunter, but I'm going to do it now. Your fortune told by hand or cards. Beware of the dark stranger. That sort of thing."
"Indeed, my lord?"