"The Carlton? Prince's? Claridge's? Berkeley?" I suggested. "Or what do you say to Jules' or the Milan grill-room?"
Mr. Parker shook his head slowly.
"If you really mean that you wish me to choose," he said, "I say
Stephano's."
"As you will," I agreed. "I only suggested the other places because I thought Miss Parker might like a change."
We drove to Stephano's. It struck me that Luigi's greeting was scarcely so cordial as usual. He piloted us, however, to the table usually occupied by Mr. Parker. On the way he took the opportunity of drawing me a little apart.
"Mr. Walmsley, sir," he said, "can you tell me anything about Mr. Parker and his daughter?"
"Anything about them?" I repeated.
"That they are Americans I know," he continued, "and that the young lady is beautiful—well, one has eyes! It is not my business to be too particular as to the character of those who frequent my restaurant; but twice Mr. Parker has been followed here by a detective, and last night, as you know, they left practically under arrest. It is not good for my restaurant, Mr. Walmsley, to have the police so often about, and if Mr. Parker and his daughter are really of the order of those who pass their life under police supervision, I would rather they patronized another restaurant."
I only laughed at him.
"My dear Luigi," I protested, "be careful how you turn away custom. Mr. Parker is, I should think, no better or any worse than a great many of your clients."