“Good morning, Sir,” I remarked courteously but firmly.  “You are the proprietor of this shop, I presume?”

His reply left no room for doubt.

“I am the A.T.,” I said impressively, indicating the red brassard of office presented to me by the Food Controller.  “In case you do not know what that means, I am the Appropriator of Tubers.  A tuber, Sir, is a potato.  Now it has been brought to the notice of my chief, the Food Controller, that certain vendors of vegetables are seeking to defraud the public by selling as potatoes a totally different kind of vegetable disguised with colouring matter and rubbed with earth.”

I paused to allow this weighty announcement to sink in.  My audience gaped.  I continued—­

“Acting on orders received from the Controller I am making a series of surprise inspections with a view to discovering the guilty parties, who will be proceeded against under section A, subsection 2, paragraph 1,769 of Part III. of King’s Reg’s.—­I mean, the Defence of the Realm Act.  I particularly wish you to understand,” I went on ruthlessly, nipping an indignant protest in the bud, “that I do not for a moment allege, suggest or insinuate that you specifically are one of these potato-swindlers; nevertheless I have my duty to do, and I must ask you here and now to lay out your entire stock for inspection.”

The flabby individual wiped his forehead and signed to a trembling assistant.

“Get ’em art,” he said.  “Fer Gawd’s sake, get ’em art!”

Six bushel baskets of the precious vegetables were brought and laid in a row at my feet.

“Perhaps, Madam,” I said, turning to Mrs. Marrow, “you will be so kind as to inspect these—­ah, tubers.  Mrs. Marrow,” I explained to the greengrocer, “the famous tuber expert.”

In silence Mrs. Marrow began to overhaul the contents of the baskets, every now and then picking out a particularly choice specimen, which she added to an accumulating pile on the floor.

“Aha!  Suspects!” I exclaimed grimly.  “I shall take all these to the laboratory at the Food Controller’s Headquarters, where Mrs. Marrow will submit each tuber to a meticulous test in order to satisfy herself as to its bona fides.  You will be gratified to hear that, should your potatoes prove to be all they seem, the Controller will issue you a blue card, registering you as a certified vendor of Government-tested potatoes.  This you may place in your window for the information of your customers.  If the test proves unsatisfactory”—­I paused.  In the deathly silence the heavy breathing of Mrs. Marrow was distinctly audible—­“you will hear further,” I concluded.  “Weigh these suspects.”

They turned the scale at eighteen pounds.

“Since in any case the potatoes will be rendered unfit for consumption by the rigorous process through which they will be passed, I am empowered by the Food Controller to compensate you in advance, at a rate not exceeding sevenpence per pound, out of the special appropriation funds, this sum to be returned in the event of the test proving unsatisfactory.”