The reporter whistled softly.
"I wonder what that means!" he said. "It sounds interesting, somehow."
"Come and have a drink," I said.
He accepted at once.
"What paper are you on?" he asked, as we crossed the street.
"To be honest with you," I replied, "I am not on a paper at all. I am not even a reporter. I am interested in the visit of these two men to Newcastle for more serious reasons."
The young man looked at me thoughtfully. He slipped his arm through mine as though he intended never to let me go. Evidently he scented a story.
"I suppose," he said, "you mean that you are a detective?"
"No!" I answered, "scarcely that. I can only tell you that it is my business to watch the movements of those two men."
I could see from his manner that he believed me to be a government spy, or something of the sort. We ordered our drinks and then turned, as though by common consent, once more to the window. A motor-car was drawn up in front of the place, and an elderly man was descending hurriedly.