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Mr Hilton was a sober-faced man of fifty-five, sallow and unhappy

His tone was funereal and deliberate, his eyes steady and remorseless

"Sit down, Mr Senob," he said hollowly "I have ato this establishment the new

proprietor who has taken the place of my revered chief, whom I have

faithfully served for twenty-nine years"

Bones closed his eyes and listened as to an address of welcome

"Personally," said Mr Hilton, "I think that the sale of this business

is a great mistake on the part of the Siker faenerations," he said with a relish of an

antiquarian "George Siker first started work as an investigator in

1814 in this identical building For thirty-five years he conducted

Siker's Confidential Bureau, and was succeeded by his son Jae for twenty-three years----"

"Quite so, quite so," said Bones "Poor old George! Well, well, we

can't live for ever, dear old chief of staff Now, the thing is, how

to iy apart, many visitors They were not, as he

had anticipated, veiled ladies or cloaked dukes, nor did they pour into

his discreet ears the stories of misspent lives

There was Mr Carlo Borker, of Borker's Confidential Enquiry Bureau, a

gross man in a top hat, who complained bitterly that old man Siker had

practically and to all intents and purposes offered hio

It was a one-sided conversation