He looked annoyed.
"I told you I didn't wish any money," said he, with some asperity. "I have more American fifty-cent dollars now than I can get rid of. They annoy me."
And he tore the check up. We then parted, and the train drew out of the station. Opposite me in the carriage was a young woman who I thought might be interested in knowing with whom I had been talking.
"Do you know who that was?" I asked.
"Very well indeed," she replied.
"Ian Maclaren," I said.
"Not a bit of it," said she. "That's one of our head detectives. We know him well in Liverpool. Dr. Maclaren employs him to stave off American interviewers."
I stared at the woman, aghast.
"I don't believe it," I said. "If he'd been a detective, he wouldn't have torn up my check."