I
begin to believe again that we are dealing with a madman."
Harley glanced down at the wing of the bat.
"We shall see," he murmured. "Even if the only result of our visit is
to make the acquaintance of the Colonel's household our time will not
have been wasted."
"No," said I, "that is true enough. I am looking forward to meeting
Madame de Staemer--"
"The Colonel's invalid cousin," added Harley, tonelessly.
"And her companion, Miss Beverley."
"Quite so. Nor must we forget the Spanish butler, and the Colonel
himself, whose acquaintance I am extremely anxious to renew."
"The whole thing is wildly bizarre, Harley."
"My dear Knox," he replied, stretching himself luxuriously in the long
lounge chair, "the most commonplace life hovers on the edge of the
bizarre. But those of us who overstep the border become preposterous in
the eyes of those who have never done so. This is not because the
unusual is necessarily the untrue, but because writers of fiction have
claimed the unusual as their particular province, and in doing so have
divorced it from fact in the public eye. Thus I, myself, am a myth, and
so are you, Knox!"
He raised his hand and pointed to the doorway communicating with the
office.
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