You have interrupted me, sir. Good morning."
He stepped back, and would have closed the door, but:
"Mr. Camber," said Paul Harley, and the tone of his voice was
arresting.
Colin Camber paused.
"My name is evidently unfamiliar to you," Harley continued. "You regard
myself and Mr. Knox as friends of the late Colonel Menendez--"
At that Colin Camber started forward.
"The _late_ Colonel Menendez?" he echoed, speaking almost in a
whisper.
But as if he had not heard him Harley continued:
"As a matter of fact, I am a criminal investigator, and Mr. Knox is
assisting me in my present case."
Colin Camber clenched his hands and seemed to be fighting with some
emotion which possessed him, then:
"Do you mean," he said, hoarsely--"do you mean that Menendez is--dead?"
"I do," replied Harley. "May I request the privilege of ten minutes'
private conversation with you?"
Colin Camber stood aside, holding the door open, and inclining his head
in that grave salutation which I knew, but on this occasion, I think,
principally with intent to hide his emotion.
Not another word did he speak until the three of us stood in the
strange study where East grimaced at West, and emblems of remote devil-
worship jostled the cross of the Holy Rose.
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