"Hm!" Wingate observed. "You see all sorts of life."
"I do indeed," Slate admitted. "What do you want with me? I can find you a murderer who's looking for a job, or a burglar who would take anything on where there was a reasonable chance of success, or half a dozen witnesses—a little tarnished, though, I'm afraid they may be—who would swear anything. Or I can find you several beautiful ladies—beautiful, that is to say, with the aid of one of the costumers up the street and a liberal supply of cosmetics—who will inveigle any young man you want dealt with into any sort of situation, provided he is fool enough and the pay is good. I'm an all-round man still, Wingate, but my nose is a little closer to the ground than it was."
Wingate looked thoughtfully at the man whom he had come to visit, studying his appearance in every detail. Then he leaned across and laid his hand upon his shoulder.
"Andrew," he said, "you and I have looked out at life once or twice and seen the big things. I guess there's no false shame between us. I can say what I want, can't I?"
"I should say so," was the hearty reply. "Get right on with it, John.
I've passed the blushing age."
"It's like this," Wingate explained. "I've got a job for you. You can't do it like that. Walk to the door, will you?"
"Damn it, I know you're going to look at my boots!" Slate declared, as he rose unwillingly and obeyed.
"You've got it at once," Wingate acquiesced. "You're a smart fellow still, Slate, I see. Now listen. You can't do my job like that. Here's twenty pounds on account. I'm going to stroll around to the Milan Grillroom and take a table for luncheon. I shall expect you there in half an hour. You're in the neighbourhood for quick changes."
Slate took the money and reached for his hat.
"Come along, then. You take the lift down. I'll go by the stairs. I shan't be late, unless you'd like me to stop and have a shave and my hair trimmed."