“Well?”

“You deal a square pack, don’t you?”

“That’s my reputation, Bucky.”

“Give me your word you’ll play me square.”

Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily.  Greenfield, with pursed lips, studied every movement.

“No kidnapping tricks?”

Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against his fork and fell to eating.

“Well, Bub?”

“What?”

“No fancy kidnapping?”

“I’m promising nothing, Bucky.”

There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered.  Suddenly he shot out his hand, saying with a nod:  “You’re a white man, Bub, and I never heard a word against that.”  He filled a glass and shoved it toward Frawley.  “We might as well clink on it.  For I rather opinionate before we get through this little business—­there’ll be something worth talking about.”

“Here’s to you then, Bucky,” said Frawley, nodding.

“Remember what I tell you,” said Greenfield, looking over his glass, “there’s going to be something to live for.”

“I say, Bucky,” said Frawley with a lazy interest, “would they serve you five-o’clock tea here, I wonder?”

Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh.

“Bub, I’m sorry for you—­’pon my word I am.”

“How so, Bucky?”

“Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don’t have the slightest suspicion what you’re gettin’ into!”

“What am I getting into, Bucky?”

Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle.

“If you get me, it’ll be the last job you ever pull off.”

“Maybe, maybe.”

“Since things are aboveboard—­listen here,” said Greenfield with sudden seriousness.  “Bub, you’ll not get me alive.  Nothing personal, you understand, but it’ll have to be your life or mine.  If it comes to the pinch, look out for yourself—­”

“Oh, yes,” said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, “I understand.”

“I ain’t tried to bribe you,” said Greenfield, rising.  “Thank me for that—­though another man might have been sent up for life.”

“Thanks,” Frawley said with a drawl.  “And you’ll notice I haven’t advised you to come back and face the music.  Seems to me we understand each other.”

“Here’s my address,” said Greenfield, handing him a card; “may save you some trouble.  I’m here every night.”  He held out his hand.  “Turn up and meet the profesh.  They’re a clever lot here.  They’d appreciate meeting you, too.”

“Perhaps I will.”

“Ta-ta, then.”

Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full of mischief.

“By the way, Bub—­how long has Her Majesty’s dinkies given you?”

“It’s a life appointment, Bucky.”

“Really—­bless me—­then your bloomin’ government has some sense after all.”

The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange.