On this occasion, anyhow, my curiosity got the better of my fixed rule. I decided to lead Chalmers on.
“Do you mean to say that your noble industry is nothing but a poor substitute for a drug?”
He smiled quaintly. His green eyes shone under his dark eyelashes. Very taking eyes they were: well set in his head and pleasantly intimate, with a near-sighted brilliancy.
“I didn’t say it was a poor substitute. And, anyhow, cocaine might charm away the hours, but only work can charm away the years. I’ve got into my stride—for eternity, it would seem. And some day, you know, I may, quite incidentally, do something in spectrum analysis that will be significant. I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“Are you so sure?”
“Well—it looks as if I were in for a long wait.”
He spoke as unconcernedly as if he had his lease of life locked up in his safe-deposit drawer.
I drank some whiskey and waited a minute, wondering whether to push his confidence over the edge, send it spinning into an abyss of revelation. Finally, I decided.
“I didn’t know that anything but a contract with the devil could make you so sure.”
“Oh, it doesn’t have to be with the devil.” He sipped his virtuous apollinaris. “Did you notice the heroine’s sister?” he went on.