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A hand fell on his shoulder.
"Hello, Average. Haven't seen you at a Saturday special night since
you started your hobby."
It was Bertram. "What's on?" Average Jones asked him, shaking
hands.
"Freak concert. Bellerding has trotted out part of his collection
of mediaeval musical instruments, and some professionals are going
to play them. Waldemar is at our table. Come and join us."
Conversation at the round-table was general and lively that evening,
and not until the port came on--the prideful club port, served only
on special occasions and in wonderful, delicate glasses--did Average
Jones get an opportunity to speak to Waldemar aside.
"I've been looking into that Linder matter a little."
"Indeed. I've about given up hope."
"You spoke of an old scandal in Linder's career. What was the
husband's name?"
"Arbuthnot, I believe."
"Do you know what sort of looking man he was?"
"No. I could find out from Washington."
"What was his business?"
"Government employment, I think."
"In the--er--scientific line, perhaps?" drawled Jones.


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