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Updated: May 20, 2025
Douglas's first visit was to Rice, whom he dragged out with him to lunch, ordering such luxuries as were seldom asked for at Spargetti's. They lingered over their cigarettes and talked much. Yet about Rice there was a certain restraint, the more noticeable because of his host's gaiety.
I wonder whether you could direct me." The policeman smiled. "There's only one place for you, sir," he said, "and it's lucky as I can direct you there. You go to Spargetti's in Old Compton Street, off Soho Square. I've heard that there's no West-End place to touch it and they do you the whole lot for two bob, including a quarter flask of wine.
"I found him at Spargetti's, struck up an acquaintance and brought him along. I thought you'd like to have a talk with him about some more work." Drexley for a moment was as speechless as Douglas was nervous. Rice, blandly unconscious of anything unusual, wheeled up a chair for the latter and sauntered towards the door. "I'd like to have a word with you before you go, Jesson," he said.
There's plenty like that, but not Spargetti's. You're all right there, sir." Douglas went off, fortified with many directions, and laughing heartily. He found Spargetti's, and seated himself at a tiny table in a long low room, blue already with cigarette smoke. They brought him such a luncheon as he had never eaten before.
"Neither," Rice answered, smiling. "Drexley is always a bear, and Spargetti's credit is a thing which not one of the chosen has ever seen the bottom of." "Then what in the name of all that is unholy," Douglas asked, "ails you?" Rice lighted a cigarette, glanced around, and leaned over the table. "You, my friend and host. You are upon my mind. I will confess." Douglas nodded and waited.
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