10Mr. Campion remained looking into those sunken and watery eyes for some little time. Then he set down his glass.
“Quarrels do occur,” he said vaguely; “a plate or two smashed here and there, what does it matter?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that sort of quarrel, sir.” The old man hesitated. He seemed a little at sea, and Campion lit a cigarette with great care and concentration. The waiter drifted away, played with some crockery on a side table, came half-way back, changed his mind, and shambled to the entrance where, after a brief survey of the weather, he appeared to reach a decision. He came stumbling back to Campion.
“Perhaps I ought not to have mentioned it, sir,” he said, fluttering before the table. “It was just a few high words. Not really high, either. Not high at all now I come to think
