"There's a detective inspector inside. Like a bull in a china-shop."
"Had some," said Mr. Donald Gordon. "Come on, doctor. Hand it out."
"Well, let's see the flowers," Reggie said, and walked him into the garden and began to tell him all that you know.
"So he's pinched Miss Weston, has he?" the little Jew lisped. "He's a hustler."
"Oh, I expect he's arrested Ford too, by now. Me and you in a minute. He's a zealous fellow. By the way, Gordon, who is Ford?"
"Yes. He's a dark horse, ain't he? I only met him once, doctor. You could see poor old Birdie was sweet on him."
"Oh, so Miss Weston was telling the truth about that."
"Why, didn't you believe her, doctor?"
"D'you know, I wonder if I believe anything I've heard in this house."
"Like that, is it?" Gordon lisped.
"Just like that," said Reggie. A gravity had come over the perky little Jew, which he found very engaging.
Mr. Gordon nodded at him. "Birdie was the one and only," he said, and Reggie nodded back.
"Nice flowers, doctor," a new voice said. Reggie turned to see the square stolidity of Super-
