"Go on," he said. "What were they?"
"The first was that you had come down from London by the newspaper train this morning, and the second was that you had received your injuries in a hansom cab accident."
His pipe was started, and he puffed out dense volumes of smoke with an air of keen enjoyment.
"Worst of having a woman for your hostess," he remarked, "one can't smoke except a sickly cigarette or two. You should take to a pipe, Ducaine."
"Will you be good enough to explain those two misstatements, Colonel
Ray?"
"Lies, both of them!" he answered, with grim cheerfulness. "Rotten lies, and I hate telling 'em. The hansom cab accident must have sounded a bit thin."
"It did," I assured him.
He removed his pipe from his teeth, and pushed down the tobacco with the end of his finger.
"I came down from town by the same train that you did," he said, "and as for my broken head and smashed arm, you did it yourself."
"I imagined so," I answered. "Perhaps you will admit that you owe me some explanation." He laughed, a deep bass laugh, and looked down at me with a gleam of humour in his black eyes.