"We all have our hobbies," Heneage answered. "Take the Colonel, for instance, the most harmless, the most good-natured man who ever lived. Nothing in the world fascinates him so much as the details of a tragedy like this, however gruesome they may be. I have seen him handle a murderer's knife as though he loved it. His favourite museum is the professional Chamber of Horrors in Scotland Yard. My own interests run in a slightly different direction. I like to look at an affair of this sort as a chess problem, and to set myself to solve it. I like to make a silent study of all the characters around, to search for motives and dissect evidence. Human nature has its secrets, and very wonderful secrets too." "I once," Wrayson said thoughtfully, "saw a man tracked down by bloodhounds. My sympathies were with the man." Heneage nodded. "Your view of life," he remarked, "was always a sentimental one." "No correct view," Wrayson declared, "can ignore sentiment." "Granted; but it must be true sentiment, not false," Heneage said. "This sentiment which interferes with justice is false sentiment." "Justice is altogether an arbitrary, a relative phrase," Wrayson declared. "I know no more about the case of Morris Barnes than you do. I knew the man by sight and repute, and I knew the manner of his life, and it seems to me a likely thing that there is more human justice about his death than in the punishing the person who compassed it." "There are cases of that sort," Heneage admitted. "That is the advantage of being an amateur, like myself. My discoveries, if I make any, are my own. I am not bound to publish them." Wrayson smiled a little bitterly. "You would be less than human if you didn't," he said. Heneage rose to his feet and began putting on his coat. Wrayson remained in his seat, without offering to help him. "So I may take it, I suppose," he said, as he moved towards the door, "that my visit to you is a failure?" "I have not the slightest idea of running away, if that is what you mean," Wrayson answered. "I am obliged to you for your warning, but what I did I am prepared to stand by." "I am sorry," Heneage answered. "Good night!" CHAPTER XII TIDINGS FROM THE CAPE Wrayson paused for a moment in his work to answer the telephone which stood upon his table. "What is it?" he asked sharply. His manager spoke to him from the offices below. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but there is a young man here who won't go away without seeing you. His name is Barnes, and he says that he has just arrived from South Africa." It was a busy morning with Wrayson, for in an hour or so the paper went to press, but he did not hesitate for a moment. "I will see him," he declared. "Bring him up yourself."