always take Bugg round to Shepherd's after he has knocked out his man, and we celebrate the victory with stout and oysters. It's Bugg's idea of Heaven." 

 He passed out into the hall where Spalding helped him on with his coat. Outside the front door stood a beautifully appointed Rolls-Royce limousine, painted the colour of silver and upholstered in grey Bedford cord. Jennings was at the wheel and inside sat Tiger Bugg and a large red-faced man with little twinkling black eyes. This latter was Mr. "Blink" McFarland, the celebrated proprietor of the Hampstead Heath Gymnasium, who acted as Tiger's trainer and sparring partner. They both touched their caps as Tony appeared. 

 "I wouldn't let 'im get out, sir," observed McFarland in a gruff voice.  "Might 'a took a chill hangin' around." 

 "Quite right, Blink," replied Tony gravely. "Lopez isn't to be sneezed at even by a future champion." 

 He lit himself a cigarette, and stepping inside closed the door behind him. Spalding made a signal to Jennings and the big car slid off noiselessly down the drive. 

 Tony turned to Bugg.  "Feeling all right?" he inquired. 

 The young prize-fighter grinned amiably.  "Fine, sir, thank ye, sir." 

 With an affectionate gesture, McFarland laid an enormous mottled hand on his charge's knee.  "He's fit to jump out of 'is skin, sir; you take it from me. If he don't knock two sorts of blue 'ell out of that dirty faced dago I'll give up trainin' fighters and start keepin' rabbits." 

 "Lopez is supposed to have a bit of a punch himself, isn't he?" inquired Tony. 

 McFarland made a hoarse rumbling noise which was presumably intended for a laugh. 

 "All the better for us, sir. The harder 'e hits the more 'e'll hurt hisself. It's a forlorn jog punchin' Tiger. You might as well kick a pavin' stone." 

 Bugg, who was evidently susceptible to compliments, blushed like a schoolgirl, and then to cover his confusion turned an embarrassed gaze out of the window. The long descent of Haverstock Hill was flying past at a rare pace, for whatever might be Jenning's shortcomings as a cheerful companion he could certainly drive a car. Indeed it could scarcely have been more than ten minutes from the moment they left the Heath, until, with a loud blast from the horn, they glided round the corner of 

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