“A little artifice! I knew it would interest you, and it’s quite one of his hobbies. I don’t know much about his past life, but I think he must have had something to do with military tailoring. A designer at the War Office, perhaps.” Beaumaroy gave a low laugh, rather mocking and malicious. “Still, that doesn’t prove a man mad, does it? Perhaps it ought to, but in general opinion it doesn’t, any more than reciting poetry in bed does.”
“Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when—”
“Well, it couldn’t have sounded worse if he had been, could it?”
Now he was openly laughing at the Captain’s angry bewilderment. He knew that Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying or suggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaft between the joints of his harness. If he got into difficulties through heedlessness, at least he made a good shot at getting out of them again by his dexterity. Only, of course, suspicion remains suspicion, even though it be, for the moment, baffled. And it could not be denied that suspicions were piling up—Captain Alec, Irechester, even, on one little point, Doctor Mary! And possibly those two fellows outside—one of them short and stumpy—had their suspicions too, though these might be directed to another point. He gave one of his little shrugs as he followed the silent Captain to the garden gate.
“Good-night. Thanks again. And I hope we shall meet soon,” he said cheerily.
Alec gave him a brief “Good-night” and a particularly formal military salute.
CHAPTER IX. — DOCTOR MARY’S ULTIMATUM
Even Captain Alec was not superior to the foibles which beset humanity. If it had been his conception of duty which impelled him to take a high line with Beaumaroy, there was now in his feelings, although he did not realize the fact, an alloy of less precious metal. He had demanded an ordeal, a test—that he should see Mr. Saffron and judge for himself. The test had been accepted; he had been worsted in it. His suspicions were not laid to rest—far from it; but they were left unjustified and unconfirmed. He had nothing to go upon, nothing to show. He had been baffled, and, moreover, bantered and almost openly ridiculed. In fact, Beaumaroy had been too many for him, the subtle rogue!