'No. Only at irregular times. Sometimes not for many weeks together.'
'Has he got any friends?'
'I should say that he has no friends at all—at least none that come to the Inn. I have never heard or seen anyone in his room. A quiet man. No slammer. An excellent man to have on the staircase. No trampler; doesn't tramp up and down like an elephant. Isn't brought home drunk.'
'What does he look like?'
'He is a man advanced in years—perhaps seventy—a good-looking man—very cheerful countenance: tall and well set up still—wears a long frock coat. And that I believe is all I know about him.'
'That's all you've got to tell me, is it?'
'That is all, Mr. Checkley. Except that he has written a very remarkable letter to the Times of this morning.'
'Well, sir, if that is all, it isn't much for your rum-and-water, let me tell you.'
The barrister rose and poured the half-glass that remained into the cinders. 'Then let me drink no more than my information was worth,' he said; and at the sight of so much magnanimity the broad earth trembled and Mr. Checkley sat aghast.
The ex-statesman cleared his throat and began again. 'After the third interruption, gentlemen, I may hope for a hearing. While, therefore, on the one hand——'