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At precisely a quarter-past six that evening, Henry Yates, his blue serge suit neatly brushed, wearing a Homburg hat and carrying a very smart cane, entered the Matresser Arms by the back yard, with the air of an habitué, and opened the door of the small private parlour leading out of the bar. A woman who was lounging in an easy-chair with her feet upon the table, smoking a cigarette, waved her hand to him in cheerful greeting.
"Punctual to the moment, my Henry!" she exclaimed. "Order me a drink. I am thirsty and I am bored. Tell me all the news. What happened at the inquest? When are you going to be a little gentleman and do everything Rosa asks you?"