"Tell him some of your experiences, Pat," suggested Inspector Marsden. "It's no use having a distinguished guest if you don't try to entertain him."
The Irishman, who apparently only needed this encouragement, plunged at once into a series of reminiscences, all dealing with that dark underworld of ruffianism which lurks furtively beneath the brilliant surface of racing. He told his stories well, and Colin, who knew little or nothing about the Turf, listened to him with absorbed interest. It was not, indeed, until the hands of the office clock were pointing to the half-hour that he reluctantly knocked out his pipe into the fireplace and rose from his chair.
"I hate to break up this cheerful party," he said truthfully, "but I've promised to be down in Shadwell by four, and I've got an unpleasant sort of feeling that I must be keeping you both from your work."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that," replied Marsden, smiling. "I'm fixed here until midnight anyway, and, no matter how busy Pat is, he can always find time to talk."
"I want to hear some more of his reminiscences," said Colin, "and yours, too. Perhaps if you could both get away together the same evening you would come out and feed with me? We could go to the Cheshire Cheese or somewhere like that. I can't ask you to my place, because at present I'm acting as bottle-washer to Professor Carter."
"The Cheshire Cheese sounds all right to me," said O'Brien approvingly. "You give us a ring when you've got a spare night, and we'll try and fix it up."
"Things are getting altogether too one-sided," objected Marsden. "Can't you think of a little service we could do for you, doctor, just by way of a change?"
Colin was on the point of making some laughing disclaimer, when an idea suddenly occurred to him.
"Would it be a lot of trouble to get me some information about a man I was introduced to the other day?" he asked.
"Not a bit," replied Marsden. "What's his name?"