“What?” Doc. shouted.
“And the Commandant,” I repeated. “He was playing a part, too.”
Doc. jumped to his feet, stared at me a moment, and then a broad grin spread over his face, and he broke into the first steps of an Irish jig, cavorting his delight in a sort of speechless ecstasy.
He stopped, suddenly grave. “Was I the only one who made a fool of myself?” he asked anxiously. “What about the other witnesses, Winnie and Gilchrist and Peel? Were they in the know?”
“Not a bit,” I said. “You four were the audience, all in the outer darkness together, and you did very well indeed, thank you!”
“But we gave you away!”
“You were intended to do that,” I said.
The Doc. began to laugh again. “Oh, Bones,” he gasped, “what benighted fools we’ve been! Now, if you love me, tell me all about it.”
“No time for that, Doc.,” I said, “but read this and you’ll know as much as the Turks.” I handed him the record of our séances with the Pimple, and went on with my packing.
When he had finished reading, he came over and sat down beside me.