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Page 39
I did as he requested, and Harley, who could change quicker than any
man I had ever known, had just finished tying his bow as I completed my
story of the encounter at the Lavender Arms.
"Hm," he muttered, as I ceased speaking. "At every turn I realize that
without you I should have been lost, Knox. I am afraid I shall have to
change your duties to-morrow."
"Change my duties? What do you mean?"
"I warn you that the new ones will be less pleasant than the old! In
other words, I must ask you to tear yourself away from Miss Val
Beverley for an hour in the morning, and take advantage of Mr. Camber's
invitation to call upon him."
"Frankly, I doubt if he would acknowledge me."
"Nevertheless, you have a better excuse than I. In the circumstances it
is most important that we should get in touch with this man."
"Very well," I said, ruefully. "I will do my best. But you don't
seriously think, Harley, that the danger comes from there?"
Paul Harley took his dinner jacket from the chair upon which the man
had laid it out, and turned to me.
"My dear Knox," he said, "you may remember that I spoke, recently, of
retiring from this profession?"
"You did."
"My retirement will not be voluntary, Knox. I shall be kicked out as an
incompetent ass; for, respecting the connection, if any, between the
narrative of Colonel Menendez, the bat wing nailed to the door of the
house, and Mr. Colin Camber, I have not the foggiest notion. In this,
at last, I have triumphed over Auguste Dupin. Auguste Dupin never
confessed defeat."
CHAPTER X
THE NIGHT WALKER
If luncheon had seemed extravagant, dinner at Cray's Folly proved to be
a veritable Roman banquet. To associate ideas of selfishness with Miss
Beverley was hateful, but the more I learned of the luxurious life of
this queer household hidden away in the Surrey Hills the less I
wondered at any one's consenting to share such exile. I had hitherto
counted an American freak dinner, organized by a lucky plunger and held
at the Caf� de Paris, as the last word in extravagant feasting. But I
learned now that what was caviare in Monte Carlo was ordinary fare at
Cray's Folly.
Colonel Menendez was an epicure with an endless purse. The excellence
of one of the courses upon which I had commented led to a curious
incident.
"You approve of the efforts of my chef?" said the Colonel.
"He is worthy of his employer," I replied.
Colonel Menendez bowed in his cavalierly fashion and Madame de St�mer
positively beamed upon me.
"You shall speak for him," said the Spaniard. "He was with me in Cuba,
but has no reputation in London. There are hotels that would snap him
up."
I looked at the speaker in surprise.
"Surely he is not leaving you?" I asked.
The Colonel exhibited a momentary embarrassment.
"No, no. No, no," he replied, waving his hand gracefully, "I was only
thinking that he--" there was a scarcely perceptible pause--"might wish
to better himself. You understand?"
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