"
He spoke the words with a sort of triumph. Like the fakir, he possessed
the art of spiritual detachment, which is an attribute of genius. From
an intellectual eminence he was surveying his own peril. Colin Camber
in the flesh had ceased to exist; he was merely a pawn in a fascinating
game.
Paul Harley glanced at his watch.
"Mr. Camber," he said, "I have just sustained the most crushing defeat
of my career. The man who had summoned me to his aid was killed almost
before my eyes. One thing I must do or accept professional oblivion."
"I understand." Colin Camber nodded. "Apprehend his murderer?"
"Ultimately, yes. But, firstly, I must see that to the assassination of
Colonel Menendez a judicial murder is not added."
"You mean--?" asked Camber, eagerly.
"I mean that if you killed Menendez, you are a madman, and I have
formed the opinion during our brief conversation that you are
brilliantly sane."
Colin Camber rose and bowed in that old-world fashion which was his.
"I am obliged to you, Mr. Harley," he replied. "But has Mr. Knox
informed you of my bibulous habits?"
Paul Harley nodded.
"They will, of course, be ascribed," continued Camber, "and there are
many suitable analogies, to deliberate contemplation of a murderous
deed.
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