the labyrinth than all my industry has enabled me to do.”
He remained in a very evil humour, and now the cause of this suddenly came to light.
“I have spent a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon,” he continued, “interviewing an impossible country policeman who had never heard of my existence!”
This display of human resentment honestly delighted me. It was refreshing to know that the omniscient Paul Harley was capable of pique.
“One, Inspector Aylesbury,” he went on, bitterly, “a large person bearing a really interesting resemblance to a walrus, but lacking that creature’s intelligence. It was not until Superintendent East had spoken to him from Scotland Yard that he ceased to treat me as a suspect. But his new attitude was almost more provoking than the old one. He adopted the manner of a regimental sergeant-major reluctantly interviewing a private with a grievance. If matters should so develop that we are compelled to deal with that fish-faced idiot, God help us all!”
He burst out laughing, his good humour suddenly quite restored, and taking out his pipe began industriously to load it.
“I can smoke while I am changing,” he said, “and you can sit there and tell me all about Colin Camber.”
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.”
