CHAPTER XII
THE TRAGEDY OF GIUSEPPI ANTONIO TOLMENICINO
"'Ullo, Scratcher!" cried Bindle as the swing doors of The YellowOstrich were pushed open, giving entrance to a small lantern-jawedman, with fishy eyes and a chin obviously intended for a face threesizes larger. "Fancy meetin' you! Wot 'ave you been doin'?"
Bindle was engaged in fetching the Sunday dinner-beer according to thetime-honoured custom.
Scratcher looked moodily at the barman, ordered a glass of beer andturned to Bindle.
"I changed my job," he remarked mysteriously.
"Wot jer doin'?" enquired Bindle, intimating to the barman by a nodthat his pewter was to be refilled.
"Waiter," responded Scratcher.
"Waiter!" cried Bindle, regarding him with astonishment.
"Yus; at Napolini's in Regent Street;" and Scratcher replaced hisglass upon the counter and, with a dexterous upward blow, scattered tothe winds the froth that bedewed his upper lip.
"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle, finding solace in his refilledtankard. "But don't you 'ave to be a foreigner to be a waiter? Don'tyou 'ave to speak through your nose or somethink?"
"Noooo!" In Scratcher's voice was the contempt of superior knowledge."Them furriners 'ave all gone to the war, or most of 'em," he added,"an' so we get a look-in."
"Wot d'you do?" enquired Bindle.
"Oh! we jest take orders, an' serves the grub, an' makes out thebills, an' gets tips. I made four pound last week, all but twelveshillings," he added.
"Well, I'm blowed!" said Bindle.
"Then," proceeded Scratcher, warming to his subject, "they oftenleaves somethin' in the bottles. Last night Ole Grandpa got sosquiffy, 'e cried about 'is mother, 'e did."
"An' didn't it cost 'im anything?" enquired Ginger, who had been aninterested listener.
"Not a copper," said Scratcher impressively, "not a brass farden."
"I wish this ruddy war was over," growled Ginger. "Four pound a week,and a free drunk. Blast the war! I say, I don't 'old wiv killin'."
"Then," continued Scratcher, "you can always get a bellyful.There's----"
"'Old 'ard, Scratcher," interrupted Bindle. "Wot place is it you'retalkin' about?"
"Napolini's," replied Scratcher, looking at Bindle reproachfully.
"Go on, ole sport; it's all right," said Bindle resignedly. "I thoughtyou might 'ave got mixed up with 'eaven."
"When you takes a stoo," continued Scratcher, "you can always pick outa bit o' meat with your fingers--if it ain't too 'ot," he added, as ifnot wishing to exaggerate. "An' when it's whitebait, you can pinchsome when no one's lookin'. As for potatoes, you can 'ave all you caneat, and soup,--well, it's there."
Scratcher's tone implied that Napolini's was literally running withsoup and potatoes.
"Don't go on, Scratcher," said Bindle mournfully; "see wot you'rea-doin' to pore Ole Ging."
"Then there's macaroni," continued Scratcher relentlessly, "them bein'I-talians. Long strings o' white stuff, there ain't much taste; but itfills up." Scratcher paused, then added reflectively, "You got to becareful wi' macaroni, or it'll get down your collar; it's thatslippery."
"I suppose ole Nap ain't wantin' anyone to 'elp mop up all themthings?" enquired Bindle wistfully.
Scratcher looked at Bindle interrogatingly.
"D'you think you could find your ole pal a job at Nap's?" enquiredBindle.
"You come down to-morrow mornin' about eleven," said Scratcher withthe air of one conferring a great favour. "Three of our chaps wassacked a-Saturday for fightin'."
"Well, I must be movin'," said Bindle, as he picked up the blue andwhite jug with the crimson butterfly. "You'll see me round at Nap's ateleven to-morrow, Scratcher, as empty as a drum;" and with a "s'long,"Bindle passed out of The Yellow Ostrich.
"Nice time you've kept me waiting!" snapped Mrs. Bindle, as Bindleentered the kitchen.
"Sorry!" was Bindle's reply as he hung up his hat behind thekitchen-door.
"Another time I shan't wait," remarked Mrs. Bindle, as she banged avegetable dish on the table.
Bindle became busily engaged upon roast shoulder of mutton, greens andpotatoes.
After some time he remarked, "I been after a job."
"You lorst your job again, then?" cried Mrs. Bindle in accusing tones."Somethin' told me you had."
"Well, I ain't," retorted Bindle; "but I 'eard o' somethink better, soon Monday I'm orf after a job wot'll be better'n 'Earty's 'eaven."
Bindle declined further to satisfy Mrs. Bindle's curiosity.
"You wait an' see, Mrs. B., you jest wait an' see."
II
On the following morning Bindle was duly enrolled as a waiter atNapolini's. He soon discovered that, whatever the privileges andperquisites of the fully-experienced waiter, the part of the novicewas one of thorns rather than of roses. He was attached as assistantto a diminutive Italian, with a fierce upward-brushed moustache.Bindle had not been three minutes under his direction before heprecipitated a crisis that almost ended in open warfare.
"Wot's your name, ole son?" he enquired. "Mine's Bindle--JosephBindle."
"Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino," replied the Italian with astonishingrapidity.
"Is it really?" remarked Bindle, examining his chief with interest, ashe proceeded deftly to lay a table. "Sounds like a machine-gun, don'tit?" Then after a pause he remarked quite innocently, "Look 'ere, olesport, I'll call you Kayser."
In a flash Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino turned upon Bindle, hismoustache bristling like the spines of a wild-boar, and from his lipspoured a passionate stream of Southern invective.
Unable to understand a word of the burning phrases of reproach thateddied and flowed about him, Bindle merely stared. There was a patterof feet from all parts of the long dining-room, and soon he was thecentre of an angry crowd of excited gesticulating waiters, withGiuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino screaming his fury in the centre.
"Hi!" called Bindle to Scratcher, who appeared through theservice-door, just as matters seemed about to break into openviolence. "'Ere! Scratcher, wot's up? Call 'im orf."
"Wot did you call 'im, Joe?" enquired Scratcher, pushing his waythrough the crowd.
"I asked 'is name, an' then 'e went off like the 'mad minute,' so Isaid I'd call 'im 'Kayser,' because of 'is whiskers."
At the repetition of the obnoxious word, Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicinoshook his fist in Bindle's face, and screamed more hysterically thanever. He was white to the lips, at the corners of his mouth two littlepoints of white foam had collected, and his eyes blinked with therapidity of a cinematograph film.
With the aid of three other waiters, Scratcher succeeded in restoringpeace. Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino's fortissimo reproaches werereduced to piano murmurs by the explanation that Bindle meant no harm,added to which Bindle apologised.
"Look 'ere," he said, genuinely regretful at the effect of his remark,"'ow was I to know that you was that sensitive, you lookin' so fiercetoo."
The arrival of one of the superintendents put an end to the dispute;but it was obvious that Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino nourished in hisheart a deep resentment against Bindle for his unintentioned insult.
"Fancy 'im takin' on like that," muttered Bindle, as he strove toadjust a white tablecloth so that it hung in equal folds on all sidesof the table. "Funny things foreigners, as 'uffy as birds, they are."Turning to Scratcher, who was passing at the moment, he enquired, "Wotthe 'ell am I a-goin' to call 'im?"
"Call who?" enquired Scratcher, his mouth full of something.
Bindle looked about warily. "Ole Kayser," he whispered. "'E's thatsensitive. Explodes if you looks at 'im, 'e does."
Scratcher worked hard to reduce the contents of his mouth toconversational proportions.
"I can't never remember 'is name," continued Bindle. "Went off like arattle it did."
"Don't know 'is name myself," said Scratcher after a gigantic swallow."'E's new."
"Wouldn't 'elp you much, ole son, if you did know it,"
said Bindlewith conviction. "Seemed to me like a patent gargle. Never 'eardanythink like it."
"'Ere!" said Bindle to Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who was dartingpast on his way to another table. The Italian paused, hatredsmouldering in his dark eyes.
"I can't remember that name o' yours, ole sport," said Bindle. "Sorry,but I ain't a gramophone. Wot 'ave I got to call you?"
"Call me sair," replied Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino with dignity.
"Call you wot?" cried Bindle indignantly. "Call you wot?"
"Call me sair," repeated the Italian.
"Me call a foreigner 'sir!'" cried Bindle. "Now ain't you the funniestole 'Uggins."
Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino cast upon Bindle a look of consuminghatred.
"Look 'ere," remarked Bindle cheerfully, "if you goes about a-lookin'like that, you'll spoil the good impression them whiskers make."
Murder flashed in the eyes of the Italian, as he ground out aparalysing oath in his own tongue.
"There's a-goin' to be trouble between me an' ole 'Okey-Pokey.Pleasant sort o' cove to 'ave about the 'ouse."
Customers began to drift in, and soon Bindle was kept busy fetchingand carrying for Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who by every means inhis power strove to give expression to the hatred of Bindle that wasburning in his soul.
At the end of the first day,--it was in reality the early hours of thenext morning,--as Bindle with Scratcher walked from Napolini's to theTube, he remarked, "Well, I ain't 'ungry, though I could drink a dealmore; still I says nothink about that; but as for tips, well, ole'Okey-Pokey's pocketed every bloomin' penny. When I asked him to divvyup fair, 'e started that machine-gun in 'is tummy, rolled 'is eyes,an' seemed to be tryin' to tell me wot a great likin' 'e'd taken tome. One o' these days somethink's goin' to 'appen to 'im," addedBindle prophetically. "'E ain't no sport, any'ow."
"Wot's 'e done?" enquired Scratcher.
"I offered to fight 'im for the tips, an' all 'e did was to turn on'is rattle;" and Bindle winked at the girl-conductor, who clanged thetrain-gates behind him.
For nearly a week Bindle continued to work thirteen hours a day,satisfying the hunger of others and quenching alien thirsts. Thanks tojudicious hints from Scratcher, at the same time he found means ofministering to his own requirements. He tasted new and strange foods;but of all his discoveries in the realm of dietetics, curried prawnsheld pride of place. More than one customer looked anxiously into thedark brown liquid, curious as to what had become of the blunt-pointedcrescents; but, disliking the fuss attending complaint, he ascribedthe reduction in their number to the activities of the FoodController.
When, as occasionally happened in the absence of his chief, Bindlecame into direct contact with a customer and received an order, heinvariably found himself utterly at a loss.
"Bouillabaisse de Marseilles, pommes sautees," called out onecustomer. Bindle, who was hurrying past, came to a dead stop andregarded him with interest.
"D'you mind sayin' that again, sir," he remarked.
"Bouillabaisse de Marseilles, pommes sautees," repeated the customer.
"Well, I'm blowed!" was Bindle's comment.
The customer stared, but before he had time to reply Bindle wasunceremoniously pushed aside by Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino, who, padin hand, bent over the customer with servile intentness.
"Wot did 'e mean? Was 'e tellin' me 'is name?" enquired Bindle of alath-like youth, with frizzy hair and a face incapable of expressinganything beyond a meaningless grin. It was Scratcher, however, whotold the puzzled Bindle that the customer had been ordering lunch andnot divulging his identity.
"Bullybase de Marsales pumsortay is things to eat, Joe," he explained;"you got to learn the mane-yu."
"Well, I'm blowed!" was Bindle's sole comment. "Fancy people eatin'things with names like that." He followed Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicinotowards the "service" regions in response to an imperious motion ofhis dark, well-greased head.
When Bindle returned to the dining-room, after listening to theunintelligible rebukes of his immediate superior, he found himselfbeckoned to the side of the customer whose wants he had found himselfunable to comprehend.
"New to this job?" he enquired.
"You've 'it it, sir," was Bindle's reply. "New _as_ new. I'm in thefurniture-movin' line myself; but Scratcher told me this 'ere was asoft job, an' so I took it on. 'E didn't happen to mention 'Okey-Pokey'owever."
"Hokey-Pokey!" interrogated the guest.
"That chap with 'is whiskers growin' up 'is nose," explained Bindle."All prickles 'e is. Can't say anythink without 'urtin' 'is feelin's.Never come across such a cove."
Later, when the customer left, it was to Bindle and not to GiuseppiAntonio Tolmenicino that he gave his tip. This precipitated a crisis.Once out of the dining-room the Italian demanded of Bindle the money.
"You shall 'ave 'alf, ole son," said Bindle magnanimously, "if youforks out 'alf of wot you've 'ad given you, see?" Giuseppi AntonioTolmenicino did not see. His eyes snapped, his moustache bristled, hissallow features took on a shade of grey and, discarding English, helaunched into a torrent of words in his own tongue.
Bindle stood regarding his antagonist much as he would a juggler, orquick-change artist. His good-humoured calm seemed to goad GiuseppiAntonio Tolmenicino to madness. With a sudden movement he seized abottle from another waiter and, brandishing it above his head, rushedat Bindle.
Bindle stepped swiftly aside; but in doing so managed to place hisright foot across Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino's path. The Italianlurched forward, bringing down the bottle with paralysing force uponthe shoulder of another waiter, who, heavily laden, was making towardsthe dining-room.
The assaulted waiter screamed, Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino rolled onthe floor, and the assaulted waiter's burden fell with a crash on topof him. The man who had been struck hopped about the room holding hisshoulder, his shirt-front dyed a deep red with the wine that hadflowed over it.
"Never see such a mess in all my puff," said Bindle in describing thescene afterwards. "Pore ole 'Okey-Pokey comes down on 'is back and alot o' tomato soup falls on 'is 'ead. Then a dish o' whitebait gets ontop of that, so 'e 'as soup and fish any'ow. Funny thing to see themlittle fishes sticking out o' the red soup. 'E got an 'erring down 'iscollar, and a dish of macaroni in 'is ear, an' all 'is clothes wascovered with different things. An 'ole bloomin' mane-yu, 'e was. 'OlyAngels! but 'e was a sight."
For a moment Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino lay inert, then he slowlysat up and looked about him, mechanically picking whitebait out of hishair, and removing a creme caramel from the inside of his waistcoat.
Suddenly his eyes lighted on Bindle.
In an instant he was on his feet and, with head down and arms wavinglike flails, he rushed at his enemy.
At that moment the door leading into the dining-room was opened and,attracted by the hubbub, Mr. James Smith, who before the war had beenknown as Herr Siegesmann, the chief superintendent, entered. He was aheavy man of ponderous proportions, with Dundreary whiskers and apompous manner. His entrance brought him directly into the line ofGiuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino's attack. Before he could take in thesituation, the Italian's head, covered with tomato soup and bristlingwith whitebait, caught him full in the centre of his person, and hewent down with a sobbing grunt, the Italian on top of him.
The shock released a considerable portion of the food adhering toGiuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino on to the chief superintendent. Whitebaitforsook the ebon locks of the waiter and dived into the magnificentDundrearys of Herr Smith, and on his shirt-front was the impression ofGiuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino's features in tomato soup.
Without a moment's hesitation Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino was on hisfeet once more; but Bindle, feeling that the time had arrived foraction, was equally quick. Taking him from behind by the collar heworked his right arm up as high as it would go behind his back. TheItalian screamed with the pain; but Bindle held fast.
"You ain't safe to be trusted about, ole sport," he remarked, "an
' Igot to 'old you, until Ole Whiskers decides wot's goin' to be done.You'll get six months for wastin' food like this. Why, you looks likea bloomin' restaurant. Look at 'im!" Bindle gazed down at theprostrate superintendent. "Knocked 'is wind out, you 'ave. Struck 'imbang in the solar-plexus, blowed if you didn't!"
With rolling eyes and foaming mouth Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicinoscreamed his maledictions. A group of waiters was bending over HerrSmith. One was administering brandy, another was plucking whitebaitout of his whiskers, a third was trying to wipe the tomato soup fromhis shirt-front, an operation which transformed a red archipelago intoa flaming continent.
When eventually the superintendent sat up, he looked like a whiskeredrobin redbreast. He gazed from one to the other of the waiters engagedupon his renovation. Then his eye fell upon Giuseppi AntonioTolmenicino. He uttered the one significant British word.
"Berlice!"
When Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino left Napolini's that evening, it wasin the charge of two policemen, with two more following to be preparedfor eventualities. Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino was what is knownprofessionally as "violent." Not satisfied with the food that wasplastered upon his person, he endeavoured by means of his teeth todetach a portion of the right thigh of Police-constable Higgins, andwith his feet to raise bruises where he could on the persons of hiscaptors.
"Pore ole 'Okey-Pokey!" remarked Bindle, as he returned to thedining-room, where he had now been allotted two tables, for which hewas to be entirely responsible. "Pore ole 'Okey-Pokey. I'm afraid Igot 'is goat; but didn't 'e make a mess of Ole Whiskers!"
Herr Smith had gone home. When a man is sixty years of age and,furthermore, when he has been a superintendent of a restaurant forupwards of twenty-five years, he cannot with impunity be rammed in thesolar-plexus by a hard-headed and vigorous Italian.
While Giuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino in a cell at Vine Street PoliceStation was forecasting the downfall of the Allies by the secession ofItaly from the Entente, Bindle was striving to satisfy the demands ofthe two sets of customers that sat at his tables. He made mistakes,errors of commission and omission; but his obviously genuine desire tosatisfy everybody inclined people to be indulgent.
The man who was waiting for pancakes received with a smilehalf-a-dozen oysters; whilst another customer was bewildered atfinding himself expected to commence his meal with pancakes and jam.When such errors were pointed out, Bindle would scratch his head inperplexity, then, as light dawned upon him, he would break out into agrin, make a dive for the pancakes and quickly exchange them for theoysters.
The names of the various dishes he found almost beyond him and, toovercome the difficulty, he asked the customers to point out on themenu what they required. Then again he found himself expected to carrya multiplicity of plates and dishes.
At first he endeavoured to emulate his confreres. On one occasion heset out from the dining-room with three dishes containing respectively"caille en casserole," a Welsh rarebit, and a steak and friedpotatoes. The steak and fried potatoes were for a lady of ampleproportions with an almost alarmingly low-cut blouse. In placing thesteak and metal dish of potatoes before her, Bindle's eye for a secondleft the other two plates, which began to tilt.
The proprietor of the large-bosomed lady was, with the aid of afish-knife, able to hold in place the Welsh rarebit; but he was toolate in his endeavour to reach the under-plate on which reposed the"caille en casserole," which suddenly made a dive for the apex of theV of the lady's blouse.
As she felt the hot, moist bird touch her, she gave a shriek andstarted back. Bindle also started, and the lady's possessor lost hisgrip on the Welsh rarebit, which slid off the plate on to his lap.
Greatly concerned, Bindle placed the empty Welsh rarebit plate quicklyon the table and, seizing a fork, stabbed the errant and romanticquail, replacing it upon its plate. He then went to the assistance ofthe gentleman who had received the Welsh rarebit face downwards on hislap.
With great care Bindle returned it to the plate, with the exception ofsuch portions as clung affectionately to the customer's person.
To confound confusion the superintendent dashed up full of apologiesfor the customers and threatening looks for the cause of the mishap.Bindle turned to the lady, who was hysterically dabbing her chest witha napkin.
"I 'ope you ain't 'urt, mum," he said with genuine solicitude; "Ididn't see where 'e was goin', slippery little devil!" and Bindleregarded the bird reproachfully. Then remembering that another waswaiting for it, he crossed over to the table at which sat the customerwho had ordered "caille en casserole" and placed the plate before him.
The man looked up in surprise.
"You'd better take that away," he said. "That bird's a bit tooenterprising for me."
"A bit too wot, sir?" interrogated Bindle, lifting the plate to hisnose. "I don't smell it, sir," he added seriously.
"I ordered 'caille en casserole,'" responded the man. "You bring me'caille en cocotte.'"
"D'you mind saying that in English, sir?" asked Bindle, wholly at sea.
At that moment he was pushed aside by the owner of the lady ofgenerous proportions. Thrusting his face forward until it almosttouched that of the "caille" guest, he launched out into a volley ofreproaches.
"Mon Dieu!" he shouted, "you have insulted that lady. You are ascoundrel, a wretch, a traducer of fair women;" and he went on inFrench to describe the customer's ancestry and possible progeny.
Throughout the dining-room the guests rose to see what was happening.Many came to the scene of the mishap. By almost superhuman efforts andan apology from the customer who had ordered "caille en casserole,"peace was restored and, at a motion from the superintendent, Bindlecarried the offending bird to the kitchen to exchange it for another,a simple process that was achieved by having it re-heated and returnedon a clean plate.
"This 'ere all comes about through these coves wantin' foreign food,"muttered Bindle to himself. "If they'd all 'ave a cut from the jointand two veges, it 'ud be jest as simple as drinkin' beer. An' ain'tthey touchy too," he continued. "Can't say a word to 'em, but whatthey flies up and wants to scratch each other's eyes out."
Tranquillity restored, Bindle continued his ministrations. For half anhour everything went quietly until two customers ordered ginger beer,one electing to drink it neat, and the other in conjunction with adouble gin. Bindle managed to confuse the two glasses. The customerwho had been forced to break his pledge was greatly distressed, andmuch official tact on the part of a superintendent was required tosoothe his injured feelings.
"Seems to me," muttered Bindle, "that I gets all the crocks. Ifthere's anythink funny about, it comes and sits down at one o' mytables. Right-o, sir, comin'!" he called to an impatient customer,who, accompanied by a girl clothed principally in white boots, rougeand peroxide, had seated himself at the table just vacated by a couplefrom the suburbs.
The man ordered a generous meal, including a bottle of champagne.Bindle attentively wrote down a phonetic version of the customer'srequirements. The wine offered no difficulty, it was numbered.
Bindle had observed that wine was frequently carried to customers in awhite metal receptacle, sometimes containing hot water, at otherspowdered ice. No one had told him of the different treatment accordedto red and white wines. Desirous of giving as little trouble aspossible to his fellows, he determined on this occasion to act on hisown initiative. Obtaining a wine-cooler, he had it filled with hotwater and, placing the bottle of champagne in it, hurried back to thecustomer.
Placing the wine-cooler on a service-table, he left it for a fewminutes, whilst he laid covers for the new arrivals.
The lady thirstily demanded the wine. Bindle lifted it from itsreceptacle, wound a napkin round it as he had seen others do and,nippers in hand, carried it to the table.
He cut the wires. Suddenly about half a dozen different things seemedto happen at the same moment. The cork leapt joyously from the neck ofthe bottle and, careering across the room, caught the edge of themonocle of a diner and p
lanted it in the soup of another at the nexttable, just as he was bending down to take a spoonful. The liquidsprayed his face. He looked up surprised, not having seen the cause.He who had lost the monocle began searching about in a short-sightedmanner for his lost property.
The cork, continuing on its way, took full in the right eye a customerof gigantic proportions. He dropped his knife and fork and roared withpain. Bindle watched the course of the cork in amazement, holding thebottle as a fireman does the nozzle of a hose. From the neck squirteda stream of white foam, catching the lady of the white boots, rougeand peroxide full in the face. She screamed.
"You damn fool!" yelled the man to Bindle.
In his amazement Bindle turned suddenly to see from what quarter thisrebuke had come, and the wine caught the man just beneath the chin.Never had champagne behaved so in the whole history of Napolini's. Asuperintendent rushed up and, with marvellous presence of mind, seizeda napkin and stopped the stream. Then he snatched the bottle fromBindle's hands, at the same time calling down curses upon his head forhis stupidity.
The lady in white boots, rouge and peroxide was gasping and dabbingher face with a napkin, which was now a study in pink and white. Herescort was feeling the limpness of his collar and endeavouring todetach his shirt from his chest. The gentleman who had lost hismonocle was explaining to the owner of the soup what had happened, andasking permission to fish for the missing crystal that was lyingsomewhere in the depths of the stranger's mulligatawny.
Bindle was gazing from one to the other in astonishment. "Fancychampagne be'avin' like that," he muttered. "Might 'ave been astone-ginger in 'ot weather."
At that moment the superintendent discovered the wine-cooler full ofhot water. One passionate question he levelled at Bindle, who noddedcheerfully in reply. Yes, it was he who had put the champagne bottlein hot water.
This sealed Bindle's fate as a waiter. Determined not to allow him outof his sight again, the superintendent haled him off to the manager'sroom, there to be formally discharged.
"Ah! this is the man," said the manager to an inspector of police withwhom he was engaged in conversation as Bindle and the superintendententered.
The inspector took a note-book from his pocket.
"What is your name and address?" he asked of Bindle.
Bindle gave the necessary details, adding, "I'm a special, FulhamDistrict. Wot's up?"
"You will be wanted at Marlborough Street Police Court to-morrow atten with regard to"--he referred to his note-book--"a charge againstGiuseppi Antonio Tolmenicino," said the inspector.
"Wot's 'e goin' to be charged with, assault an' battery?" enquiredBindle curiously.
"Under the Defence of the Realm Act," replied the inspector."Documents were found on him."
Bindle whistled. "Well, I'm blowed! A spy! I never did trust them sorto' whiskers," he muttered as he left the manager's room.
Five minutes later he left Napolini's for ever, whistling at thestretch of his powers "So the Lodger Pawned His Second Pair of Boots."