back to it, thrust his hands in the pockets of his dressing-gown. He puffed at his big pipe for a while, staring across the shadowy corners of the room, and suddenly he laughed.
"You can tell all that to Madrasia in the morning," he said. "It'll amuse her."
"Mystify her, you mean!" I said.
"Well, both, then—they come to the same thing," he answered. "Please her, too; she thought—being a woman, and having feminine intuition—that Master Pawley was—well, something of what he seems to be."
"Then you think Pawley came here of set purpose—design?" I asked.
"Maybe!" he answered, coolly. "Didn't strike me at the time. I took the fellow for being what he professed to be—though I certainly wasn't impressed by his antiquarian knowledge. But then, the man described himself as a neophyte, a novice. Well, he was—very much so!"
"My opinion is that Pawley was a spy!" said I.
It was a direct challenge to him to let me into his mind. But as soon as I had thrown it down, I saw that he was not going to take
