"That young man, Mr. Inspector," he said complainingly, "puts altogether too much feeling into his work. I may have been a bit sarcastic with him once or twice; but if it comes to a lifelong vendetta, or anything of that sort, why, he's beginning to look for trouble—that's all! I'm getting sick of the sight of him. If ever I lunch or dine out he's there. If I go to a theater he's about. Whatever harmless amusement I go in for he's there looking on. Just give him a word of caution, Mr. Inspector. I'm a good-tempered man, but this can't go on forever."
The inspector himself escorted us to the door.
"I beg, Mr. Parker," he said, "that you will take no more notice of Mr. Cullen's little fit of temper. As regards your complaint, I promise you that I will talk to him seriously. Allow me to send for a taxicab for you. Oh! I beg your pardon—that is your own car. I only regret that we should have wasted a few minutes of your evening. Good night, gentlemen! Good night, madam!"
We left Bow Street amid many manifestations of courtesy and good will.
"Where shall I tell him to go to, sir?" the policeman asked as he closed the door.
"Back to Stephano's!" Mr. Parker ordered.
We glided down into the Strand. Mr. Parker glanced at his watch.
"We shall just about make those grilled cutlets," he remarked. "Gives you kind of an appetite—this sort of thing! Say, what's the matter with you, Mr. Walmsley?"
"Oh, nothing particular!" I answered. "Only I was just wondering what in the name of all that's miraculous can have become of Lady Orstline's necklace!"
We descended at Stephano's and were ushered to our table, where the oyster cocktails were waiting. Mr. Parker took my arm.