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touch. He had on a pearl-grey flannel suit, a pale-green silk shirt, a bottle-green tie and reverse calf shoes of the same colour. A white carnation decorated his button-hole and a fat, oval, gold-tipped cigarette hung from his over-red lips.
    Gorman had planted himself in front of the fireplace. He stared at me with empty eyes as if he were suddenly bored with me.
    “You’d like a drink?” he said, then glanced at Parker. “A drink for Mr. Jackson, don’t you think?”
    “Let him get it himself,” Parker said sharply. “I’m not in the habit of waiting on servants.”
    “Is that what I am?” I asked.
    “You wouldn’t be here unless you were being paid, and that makes you a servant,” he told me in his supercilious voice.
    “So it does.” I crossed over to the sideboard and mixed myself a drink big enough to float a canoe. “Like the little guy who was told to wash his hands.”
    “It’ll be all right with me if you talk when you’re spoken to,” he said, his face tight with rage.
    Gorman said, “Don’t get excited, Dominic.”
    The hoarse, scratchy voice had an effect on Parker. He sat down again and frowned at his finger-nails. There was a pause. I lifted my glass, waved it at Gorman and drank. The Scotch was as good as the diamond.
    “Is he going to do it?” Parker asked suddenly without looking up.
    “Tomorrow night,” Gorman said. “Explain it to him. I’m going to bed.” He included me in the conversation by pointing a ringer the size of a banana at me. “Mr. Parker will tell you all you want to know. Good night, Mr. Jackson.”
    I said good night.
    At the door, he turned to look at me again.
    “Please co-operate with Mr. Parker. He has my complete confidence. He understands what has to be done and what he tells you is an order from me.”
    “Sure,” I said.
    We listened to Gorman’s heavy tread as he climbed the stairs. The room seemed empty without him.
    “Go ahead,” I said, dropping into one of the lounging chairs. “You have my complete confidence too.”
    “We won’t have any funny stuff, Jackson.” Parker was sitting up very stiff in his chair. His fists were clenched. “You’re being paid for this job and paid well. I don’t want any impertinence from you. Understand?”
    “So far I’ve only received two hundred dollars,” I said, smiling at him. “If you don’t like me the way I am, send me home. The retainer will cover the time I’ve wasted coming out here. Suit yourself.”
    A tap on the door saved his dignity. He said to come in in his cold, spiteful voice and thrust his clenched fists into his trouser pockets.
    The chauffeur came in, carrying a tray. He had changed into a white drill jacket that was a shade too large for him. On the tray was a pile of sandwiches, cut thick.
    I recognized him now he wasn’t wearing the cap. I’d seen him working at the harbour. He was a dark, sad-looking little man with a hooked nose and sad, moist eyes. I wondered what he was doing here. I remembered seeing him painting a boat along the waterfront a few days ago. He must be as new to this job as I was. As he came in he gave a quick look and a puzzled expression jumped into his eyes.
    “What’s that supposed to be?” Parker snapped, pointing to the tray.
    “Mr. Gorman ordered sandwiches, sir.”
    Parker stood up, took the plate and stared at the sandwiches. He lifted one with a finicky finger and thumb, frowned at it in shocked disgust.
    “Who do you think can eat stuff like this?” he demanded angrily. “Can’t you get into your gutter mind sandwiches should be cut thin: thin as paper, you stupid oaf. Cut some more!” With a quick flick of his wrist he shot the contents of the plate into the little guy’s face. Bread and chicken dripped over him: a piece of chicken lodged in his hair. He stood very still and went white.
    Parker stalked to the french windows, wrenched back the curtains and stared out into the night. He kept his back turned until the chauffeur had