“Oh,” said Tarlyon. This was lunatic talk, and I was just about to say so when Antony asked sharply: “Why did you ask?” “I thought I smelt smoke,” said Tarlyon. “Might be cigarette smoke.” “It is,” I snapped, for I was smoking a Turkish cigarette just behind his ear. “You blasted fool!” said Antony--and with such contempt behind it that from being bored I got annoyed. I stretched out my hand on the inside of the library door and switched on the light. “Turn that out, you fool!” came a frantic roar, and I had a vision of a red giant murdering the distance between us. I’ve never thanked God for anything so much as for having directed the body of George Tarlyon to be standing between Red Antony and myself. I turned off the light quick enough. “Steady, Antony, steady!” said Tarlyon. “Oh, go to hell!” growled Antony. I thought to myself that we couldn’t be very far from it at the moment. But the spell, or smell, it seemed, was broken. I was thankful for that, anyway. Back in the lighted dining-room Antony emptied his glass and grinned at me rather shamefacedly. “Sorry, old boy,” he said. I grinned back, as though I had enjoyed it. Tarlyon asked suddenly: “Have you got a spare bedroom for me, Antony?” I stared, Antony stared. Then Antony smiled, and never before had I seen him smile quite like that. “Thank you, George,” he said, almost softly. “Now that’s really a friendly action. But I’ll be all right--you needn’t worry.” Then he addressed me as well; I had never seen Antony so reasonable. “Come to dinner here to-morrow night,” he begged. “Both of you. I can give you quite a good dinner.” He seemed very earnest, looking from one to the other of us. I was going to say I was engaged, but Tarlyon answered quickly: “Right, Antony.” And because he looked at me in a certain way, I let it be. IV In the taxi, at last, Tarlyon said: “Ralph, you risked your life by turning on that light, but you did a great service.” “What do you mean?” “Didn’t you see anything?” I then lost my temper. “No,” I shouted. “I neither smelt anything in the dark nor saw anything in the light, except that red lunatic charging at me.” “He was only preserving his illusion,” Tarlyon said mildly. “Didn’t you see, in that second of light, the open desk just by us, beside the door?” “I saw nothing but Antony, but quite enough of him.” “Pity. If you had seen the desk, you would have seen a telephone overturned on it, the receiver hanging down, and a revolver on the floor.” This was getting serious. I struck a match and examined Tarlyon’s face. He was not smiling. “Fact,” he assured me. “You would have seen the desk just as it was after Roger Poole had shot himself at it.” “You don’t mean----”