“–Missed the round hat with the long feather,” corrected St. Hilary with calm precision, “but struck the long feather on the round hat. It hung pitifully, a draggled and wobegone bit of finery; and those of us who had followed him into the court naturally regarded it with respectful sympathy. And then my heart came into my mouth. The broken feather was pointing, as it were a human hand, straight to a round––”
“Not another round hat!” I cried in despair.
“–Straight to a round stone let into the wall. And on this round stone was carved a camel’s head, the precise image of the camel’s head in this photograph of the background of the fourth hour.”
St. Hilary looked at me in triumph, and, picking up the photograph, thrust it into my hand.
“The precise image of the camel’s head in this photograph,” I repeated, trying to grasp the significance of that statement. “But why should you think that the clock-maker copied the head of that particular camel in the background of the fourth hour? My dear St. Hilary, your introduction was too elaborate for your news to be striking. I expected something more startling.”
“But, idiot,” cried the dealer, exasperated, “look at the photograph. Do you see nothing peculiar about that camel’s head?”
I took the magnifying-glass and studied the photograph carefully.
“Nothing–unless it be the eye. Perhaps it is a defect in the workmanship. But it looks–yes, it certainly does look as if the camel was blind.”
“The camel carved on the stone let into the wall of the house is blind also.”
“This is news, if it is not the merest chance,” I cried.