“You see, even the dinner was ready for you,” he said with a wink; “see how you like it.”  With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes.  “Well, Bub, I went into your all-fired Canady!”

“So you did—­why?”

“Well,” said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, “one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty’s shop has such an all-fired long arm—­”

“And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line.”

“Why, Bub, you are a bright boy!”

“It ain’t me, Bucky,” Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; “it’s the all-fired government that’s after you.”

“Good—­first rate—­then we’ll have a little excitement!”

“You’ll have plenty of that, Bucky!”

“Maybe, Bub, maybe.  Well, I made a neat job of it, didn’t I?”

“You did,” admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod.  “But you were wrong—­you were wrong—­you should have kept off.  The Canadian Government ain’t like your bloomin’ democracy.  It don’t forgive—­it don’t forget.  Tack that up, Bucky.  It’s a principle we’ve got at stake with you!”

“Don’t I know it?” cried Greenfield, striking the table.  “What else do you think I did it for?”

Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly:  “I told them it was a personal matter.”

“Sure it was!  Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on me?  D——­ your English pride and your English justice!  I’m a good enough Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch of wonder-workers as you say!  Bub—­you think you’re going to get Mr. Greenfield—­don’t you?”

“I’m not thinking, Bucky—­”

“Eh?”

“I’m simply sticking to you.”

“Sticking to me!” cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust.  “Why, you unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can’t get me that way!  Why in tarnation didn’t you strike plump for here—­instead of rubbin’ yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?”

“Bucky, you don’t understand the situation properly,” objected Frawley, without varying the level tone of his voice.  “Supposing it had been a bloomin’ corporation had sent me—? that’s what I’d have done.  But it’s the government this time—­Her Majesty’s government!  Time ain’t no consideration.  I’d have raked down the whole continent if I’d had to—­though I knew where you were.”

“Well, and now what?  You can’t touch me, Bub,” he added earnestly.  “I like straight talk, man to man.  Now, what’s your game?”

“Business.”

“All right then,” said Greenfield, with a frown, “but you can’t touch me—­now.  There’s an extradition treaty coming, but then there’d have to be a retroactive clause to do you any good.”  He paused, studying the expression on the Inspector’s face.  “There’s enough of the likes of me here to see that don’t occur.  Say, Bub?”