"Ah, Adair!" exclaimed the Inspector. "Er—just close the door, will you?"
Hector obeyed.
"I've been—ah—hearing tales about you, Adair," the Inspector began, composedly. "I don't like 'em. My advice is—er—if they're true—stop! I find it difficult to believe 'em, Adair. So I thought I'd talk it over quietly with you—er—alone."
"Tales about you!" Hector saw in a flash that the causes of the mysterious change were about to be revealed to him.
"Very good, sir," he said; and eagerly waited.
"Are they true?"
"I don't know what they are, sir."
"You don't, eh? Umph!"
The Inspector pondered. Then he looked at Hector again.
"Like me to tell you? Well—er—fact is, Adair, they say you're doing a lot of secret drinking, on cases sent from the East an' so on. Very foolish, Adair, if so. Must drink openly or not at all. Ah—makes your work in suppressing the traffic look so—so hypocritical, y'know—besides bringing the Force into disrepute. It's rather hard to explain what I mean but—er—you understand, eh?"