“That I don’t already know what you are going to tell me.”
“It is impossible for you to know that,” he replied. “How can you know what is in my mind?”
I looked at him steadily, for perhaps half a minute, smiling a little.
“It is impossible for you to know,” he repeated.
“You forget, Commandant, or perhaps you do not know. I am a thought-reader.”
“Well?”
The time had come to risk everything on a single throw.
“Let me tell you, then,” I said. “You are going to ask me to find for you a treasure, buried by a murdered Armenian of Yozgad. You want me to do so by the aid of Spirits. And you are prepared to offer me a reward.”
The Commandant leant back in his chair, in mute astonishment, staring at me.
“Am I correct?” I asked.