Reggie was full of elegant conversation. He grew iris, and told them all about iris, with appendices on the costumes in revue.
Once or twice Superintendent Bell tried to turn his attention to serious subjects. Vainly. At last Inspector Mordan broke out with, "I say, doctor, what's the wheeze about the coffee?"
"The Inspector touches the spot. Care not, all will be known ere long. There's a jolly little iris from the Himalayas" Reggie returned with enthusiasm to horticulture.
"Where are you taking us, doctor?" said the Superintendent. The taxi, which had for some little time been running through the city, seemed to intend coming out on the other side—a locality promising no good dinner. As he spoke, it turned into Liverpool Street Station.
"Liverpool Street, by George!" the Inspector said. "This is a bean-feast. Going to take us to Epping Forest, doctor?"
"We may have to go farther," Reggie said, and Gordon laughed.
"Are you in this, sir?" The Inspector turned on him.
"Professional secret, dear boy."
Reggie led the way to the station dining-room. "I don't know the cook. But let's hope for the best. A tirin' day, and active evening. Strength is what we need. Strength without somnolence. Salmon,
