“Oh, I know you would be sorry to go, Knox,” said Harley, smiling, “and so, for many reasons, should I. But I have the strongest possible objection to being trifled with.” “I am afraid I don’t quite understand you, Harley.” “Well, just consider the matter for a moment. Do you suppose that Colonel Menendez is ignorant of the fact that his nearest neighbour is a recognized authority upon Voodoo and allied subjects?” “You are speaking, of course, of Colin Camber?” “Of none other.” “No,” I replied, thoughtfully, “the Colonel must know, of course, that Camber resides in the neighbourhood.” “And that he knows something of the nature of Camber’s studies his remarks sufficiently indicate,” added Harley. “The whole theory to account for these attacks upon his life rests on the premise that agents of these Obeah people are established in England and America. Then, in spite of my direct questions, he leaves me to find out for myself that Colin Camber’s property practically adjoins his own!” “Really! Does he reside so near as that?” “My dear fellow,” cried Harley, “he lives at a place called the Guest House. You can see it from part of the grounds of Cray’s Folly. We were looking at it to-day.” “What! the house on the hillside?” “That’s the Guest House! What do you make of it, Knox? That Menendez suspects this man is beyond doubt. Why should he hesitate to mention his name?” “Well,” I replied, slowly, “probably because to associate practical sorcery and assassination with such a character would be preposterous.” “But the man is admittedly a student of these things, Knox.” “He may be, and that he is a genius of some kind I am quite prepared to believe. But having had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Colin Camber, I am not prepared to believe him capable of murder.” I suppose I spoke with a certain air of triumph, for Paul Harley regarded me silently for a while. “You seem to be taking this case out of my hands, Knox,” he said. “Whilst I have been systematically at work racing about the county in quest of information you would appear to have blundered further into the labyrinth than all my industry has enabled me to do.” He remained in a very evil humour, and now the cause of this suddenly came to light. “I have spent a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon,” he continued, “interviewing an impossible country policeman who had never heard of my existence!” This display of human resentment honestly delighted me. It was refreshing to know that the omniscient Paul Harley was capable of pique.