"I have faced danger often, but I never faced an invisible violence, or had such a fight for my life as I had at the Mansion about three weeks ago."
Quintus Oakes was speaking earnestly, and we both were deeply interested. That the celebrated detective should have met such an experience placed the tale outside the realm of fiction. He was a calm man, used to facing danger, and not one to be easily deceived or frightened.
"Great Scott!" said Moore, "you must have had a fine time. Tell us about it. It must have been what the boys call a 'lalapazooza' of a time."
I had to smile at my friend, able and successful, and already a professional man of reputation, but ever fond of an occasional slang expression as a relief from the care with which he was usually burdened. He was well to do, but had been no idler, and knew the meaning of hard work.
"Yes," said Oakes, "I had a fine time."
At this moment the telephone on the desk rang, and Oakes reached forward and placed the receiver to his ear. After a few words of business he replaced it, but I felt a curious sensation of something missing, something unusual.
His hand had shot forward toward the hook and deposited the receiver thereon in one quick, instantaneous movement. The action had been so exact that the contact had given rise to no sound save the after-tinkle of the bell. Moore noticed it too, and looked at me, as much as to say: "How was that, for measuring distance?"
Then Oakes wheeled so as to face us again.
"Excuse me for the interruption. Now I will tell you my story in a few words."