"Bit of all right--this place!" Mr. Moss remarked, handing his hat to
Luigi. "Who'll have a short one with me before we feed?"
Luigi passed the hat from the tips of his fingers to a subordinate. He
showed us a table quite silently, handed the menu over to a _maitre
d'hotel_ and promptly departed. Looking round a little nervously I could
see him gazing at us from his sanctum over the top of the blind!
"Mr. Moss, I see, has American tastes," Mr. Parker declared. "He likes an
_aperitif_ before dinner. Leave it to me, please."
Mr. Parker ordered a somewhat extensive dinner. Throughout the meal we
listened to a series of adventures in which the hero was always Mr. Moss.
We heard of wonderful hauls and wonderful escapes; detectives outwitted--
exploits that reminded me more of the motor bandits of Paris than of our
own sober capital.
Mr. Parker's attention never flagged. Halfway through the meal Mr. Moss
suddenly put down his knife and fork. He broke off in the middle of a
fascinating narration of an episode during which he had ju-jutsued one
detective, knocked another down, locked them both in an empty room, and
strolled away with a cigar abstracted from the case of one of them and his
pockets full of uncut emeralds.
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