CHAPTER XVI
I
At the receipt of custom behind the bar sat Miss Benjafield, stately as ever, relaxing her massive mind over a penny novelette.
'Who was the man who just left, Miss Benjafield?' I asked.
She marked the place with a shapely thumb and looked up.
'The man? Oh, him ! He's—why, weren't you in here, Mr Burns, one evening in January when—'
'That American?'
'That's him. What he's doing here I don't know. He disappeared quite a while back, and I haven't seen him since. Nor want. Tonight up he turns again like a bad ha'penny. I'd like to know what he's after. No good, if you ask me .'
Miss Benjafield's prejudices did not easily dissolve. She prided herself, as she frequently observed, on knowing her own mind.
'Is he staying here?'
'Not at t
