“Well, sir,” said Clinton in a beautifully musical voice with a slight drawl, “I presume you are connected with Scotland Yard. What can I do for you?” “No,” replied Bellamy, forcing a smile, “I’m in no way connected with that valuable institution.” “Forgive the suggestion,” said Clinton, “but during a somewhat adventurous career I have received so many unheralded visits from more or less polite police officials. What, then, is your business?” “I haven’t any, really,” said Bellamy. “It’s simply that I have long been a devoted admirer of your work, the greatest imaginative work of our time in my opinion. A friend of mine mentioned casually that he had seen you going into this Club, and I could not resist taking the liberty of forcing, just for a moment, my company upon you.” Clinton stared at him, and seemed not quite at his ease. “You interest me,” he said at length. “I’ll tell you why. Usually I know decisively by certain methods of my own whether a person I meet comes as an enemy or a friend. These tests have failed in your case, and this, as I say, interests me. It suggests things to me. Have you been in the East?” “No,” said Bellamy. “And made no study of its mysteries?” “None whatever, but I can assure you I come merely as a most humble admirer. Of course, I realise you have enemies--all great men have; it is the privilege and penalty of their pre-eminence, and I know you to be a great man.” “I fancy,” said Clinton, “that you are perplexed by the obstinate humidity of my left eye. It is caused by the rather heavy injection of heroin I took this afternoon. I may as well tell you I use all drugs, but am the slave of none. I take heroin when I desire to contemplate. But tell me--since you profess such an admiration for my books--which of them most meets with your approval?” “That’s a hard question,” replied Bellamy, “but _A Damsel with a Dulcimer_ seems to me exquisite.” Clinton smiled patronisingly. “It has merits,” he said, “but is immature. I wrote it when I was living with a Bedouin woman aged fourteen in Tunis. Bedouin women have certain natural gifts”--and here he became remarkably obscene, before returning to the subject of his works; “my own opinion is that I reached my zenith in _The Songs of Hamdonna_. Hamdonna was a delightful companion, the fruit of the raptures of an Italian gentleman and a Persian lady. She had the most naturally--the most brilliantly vicious mind of any woman I ever met. She required hardly any training. But she was unfaithful to me, and died soon after.” “The Songs are marvellous,” said Bellamy, and he began quoting from them fluently. Clinton listened intently. “You have a considerable gift for reciting poetry,” he said. “May I offer you a drink? I was about to order one for myself.” “I’ll join you on one condition--that I may be allowed to pay for both of them--to celebrate the occasion.”