"No. I never read anything about the case after I left this country," said Defoe.
"That's odd. I'd have thought you would have followed the case through to the end," the Voice said, half-musingly. "But still, if you had, perhaps you would not be here tonight."
"Why not? What difference would it have made?"
"I don't know. That's merely my surmise," said the Voice.
A faint footstep padded through the hall outside the living-room.
"Is that you, Manuel?" Defoe asked, wondering what would happen when his Cuban valet encountered the intruder behind the chair.
The footstep halted.
"Si, senor," answered the man-servant, at a respectful distance from his master's chair. "I come to see why you sit up so late, senor."
Defoe laughed mirthlessly. "Well truth to tell, Manuel, I am detained on business," and he wondered again how Manuel had escaped noticing the other presence in the room.
"You mean you fell asleep, senor?" asked the valet.
"I did, but some friendly caller has kept me pretty well awake the last ten minutes."
"But he has gone? And you come to bed now?" inquired the Cuban.
Defoe, after a pause, said, "Yes; I might as well go to bed, I guess."
The Voice behind the chair broke in:
"Tell your valet you will smoke another cigar before you retire."
Defoe settle down again in the chair.
"You heard, Manuel?" he asked. "You see, my visitor says he wishes me to smoke another cigar."
"But I see no visitor, senor," said the Cuban.
"You heard what he said, though," Defoe insisted.
"No, senor. I only hear you say he wish you to smoke another cigar," explained the valet.
"Well, you ought to have your ears examined, Manuel. Get my box from the table and hand it to my visitor."
Manuel fumbled in the darkness until he found the box, then handed it to Defoe. The latter waved it toward the Voice behind him.
"My guest first, Manuel," he corrected.
The Cuban stood motionless. "I see no one else," he insisted.
The Voice interrupted:
"Tell him I don't care to smoke, Mr. Defoe."
"I can see no one, senor," the Cuban repeated.
"But didn't you just hear him?" Defoe cried, leaning forward nervously.
"No, senor, I hear no one speak but you."
Defoe stared up at his valet, then half rose from the chair.
"Sit down, Defoe!" commanded the Voice sharply.
Defoe sank back once more.
"There!" he exclaimed to his valet. "Now tell me you didn't hear any one order me to sit down just then!"
The Cuban shook his head. "No, senor, I hear no one talk but you since I come in."
His master swore helplessly. "Are you trying to make a fool of me, Manuel? Do you dare stand there and tell me no one spoke to me?"
"I don't know, senor. I only know I hear no one speak—"
Again the Voice intruded:
"It may be that Manuel thinks you are trying to make a fool of him," it suggested.
"Do you?" Defoe asked the Cuban.
"Do I what, senor?" the valet asked, placidly.
"Do you think I'm trying to make a fool of you?"
"I do not say so, do I, senor?" the servant replied, deprecatingly.
"Not, but you heard—or did you hear?—this visitor say it!"
The Cuban, almost tearfully, denied it, become verbose in his protestation.
Defoe flapped his arms on the wings of his easy chair and bade his valet hush.
"Get out of here, you brown-skinned dumbbell! One of us has gone crazy tonight!"
The Cuban moved off, keeping a
