“Why?”
The other's lips parted for a quick retort; then in a surprising way the retort seemed to fail him. “Oh, because the thing isn't feasible, isn't practicable from any point of view.”
Chilcote stepped closer. “Why?” he insisted.
“Because it couldn't work, man! Couldn't hold for a dozen hours.”
Chilcote put out his hand and touched his arm. “But why?” he urged. “Why? Give me one unanswerable reason.”
Loder shook off the hand and laughed, but below his laugh lay a suggestion of the other's excitement. Again the scene stirred him against his sounder judgment; though his reply, when it came, was firm enough.
“As for reasons—” he said. “There are a hundred, if I had time to name them. Take it, for the sake of supposition, that I were to accept your offer. I should take my place in your house at—let us say at dinnertime. Your man gets me into your evening-clothes, and there, at the very start, you have the first suspicion set up. He has probably known you for years—known you until every turn of your appearance, voice, and manner is far more familiar to him than it is to you. There are no eyes like a servant's.”
“I have thought of that. My servant and my secretary can both be changed. I will do the thing thoroughly.”
Loder glanced at him in surprise. The madness had more method than he had believed. Then, as he still looked, a fresh idea struck him, and he laughed.
“You have entirely forgotten one thing,” he said. “You can hardly dismiss your wife.”