“Every time we've met for a week,” I said, “and we've met pretty often—you've given me a broad hint or so about that little secret of mine.”
“Well,” he said, “now the cat's out of the bag, I'll admit, yes, it is so. I had it—”
“From Pattison?”
“Indirectly,” he said, which I believe was lying, “yes.”
“Pattison,” I said, “took that stuff at his own risk.”
He pursed his mouth and bowed.
“My great-grandmother's recipes,” I said, “are queer things to handle. My father was near making me promise—”
“He didn't?”
“No. But he warned me. He himself used one—once.”
“Ah!... But do you think—? Suppose—suppose there did happen to be one—”