An Amiable Charlatan by Oppenheim, E. Phillips (Edward Phillips), 1866-1946

I looked at him a little blankly.

"To a certain extent I suppose you are joking?" I asked.

"To no extent at all," he assured me. "By the by, as regards that packet; would you mind just slipping it under this newspaper?"

I withdrew it from my pocket and obeyed him at once. Mr. Parker's fingers seemed to play with it for a moment and I noticed at that moment what a strong and capable hand he seemed to have, with fingers of unusual length and suppleness.

A dark faced _maitre d'hotel_, who presided over our portion of the room, came up smiling, with an inquiry as to our coffee. He exchanged a casual sentence or two with Mr. Parker, bowed and passed on. Mr. Parker, a moment later, with a little smile lifted the newspaper. The packet had disappeared. He noticed my look of surprise and seemed gratified.

"A mere trifle, that!" he declared. "I can assure you that I could have taken it out of your pocket, if I had desired, without your feeling a thing."

"Wonderful!" I murmured, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

"Just a gift!" he continued modestly. "We all have our talents, you know. I have ordered some special coffee."

I was beginning to think rapidly now.

"By the by," I asked, "what is Mr. Cullen's profession?"

"He is a detective," Mr. Parker answered, without hesitation; "and, to my mind, a singularly bad one. For two months he has had what they call his eye on me. Between ourselves I think he will have his eye on me still in another two months' time. I am sure I hope so, for I frankly admit that half the savor of life would be gone if my friend, Mr. Cullen, were to finally give me up as a bad job and leave me alone."

I suppose that something of what I was feeling was reflected in my face. I had always considered myself a man of the world and I was interested enough in my fellows to enjoy mixing with all classes.

But there was the girl!

"You are thinking--!" my companion began softly.

"Your friend," I interrupted, "has just entered the restaurant. He is coming toward this table."

Mr. Parker's expression never changed. Not a muscle twitched. His tone was even careless.

"Just as well, perhaps," he remarked, "that we worked that little conjuring trick."

The detective stood once more at our table. My instinctive dislike of him was now an accomplished thing. I hated his smile of subdued triumph, and all my fundamental ideas as to law and order were seriously affected by it. I was distinctly on the side of my new acquaintance.

"I am sorry to interrupt this little feast," Mr. Cullen said, "but I shall have to trouble you both to come with me for a short time."

Mr. Parker carefully clipped the end of his cigar and leaned back in his chair while he lit it.

"My friend Cullen," he remonstrated, "I have no objection to offering myself up as a victim to your super-abundant energy and trotting about with you wherever you choose; but when it comes to dragging my friends into it, I just want to say right here that I think you are carrying things a little too far--just a little too far, sir."