Miles barely raised an eyebrow when the fellow wanted a cognac. His accent gave him away as being from the Continent, and he figured that he thought this was an establishment that actually served decent drinks. He figured he'd just pull the good bottle of port out from under the bar and started to pour it.
When he asked if they could talk in private, he gave a knowing look. "Sure," he said a little louder. "Bathroom's that way, but don't take the door on the right, that's my office." He took the money for the drink, and waited for the fellow to excuse himself. He'd follow in a minute, after he served a drink to another patron. These people delivering messages could wait that long.