“I am always naturally pleased to see clients, Major Ragstaff,” said Harley, “but a certain amount of routine is necessary even in civilian life. You had not advised me of your visit, and it is contrary to my custom to discuss business after five o'clock.”
As Harley spoke the Major glared at him continuously, and then:
“I've seen you in India!” he roared; “damme! I've seen you in India!—and, yes! in Turkey! Ha! I've got you now sir!” He sprang to his feet. “You're the Harley who was in Constantinople in 1912.”
“Quite true.”
“Then I've come to the wrong shop.”
“That remains to be seen, Major.”
“But I was told you were a private detective, and all that.”
“So I am,” said Harley quietly. “In 1912 the Foreign Office was my client. I am now at the service of anyone who cares to employ me.”
“Hell!” said the Major.
He seemed to be temporarily stricken speechless by the discovery that a man who had acted for the British Government should be capable of stooping to the work of a private inquiry agent. Staring all about the room with a sort of naive wonderment, he drew out a big silk handkerchief and loudly blew his nose, all the time eyeing Harley questioningly. Replacing his handkerchief he directed his regard upon me, and: