"I? Why, my name's John Faber."
"Faber—Faber? I used to know a Faber in Paris in the 'seventies."
"His son, sir."
Louis turned his cigarette over in his mouth.
"How did you hear of me?" he asked.
"Oh, I got your name in Paris. The New York Mitre people gave it to me."
"That's odd; I used to know your mother forty years ago. Well, so long," and he turned on his heel.