"He should not be allowed to enter the café."
"No one can keep him out."
"This is surpassing strange. He has no right to the tips. You should communicate with the police."
The waiter shook his head. "They can do nothing. Jean Bouchon died in 1869."
"Died in 1869!" I repeated.
"It is so. But he still comes here. He never pesters the old customers, the inhabitants of the town—only visitors, strangers."
"Tell me all about him."
"Monsieur must pardon me now. We have many in the place, and I have my duties."
"In that case I will drop in here to-morrow morning when you are disengaged, and I will ask you to inform me about him. What is your name?"
"At monsieur's pleasure—Alphonse."