“You should be in a freak museum, Ferguson.”
“Indeed. Why?”
“You’re a prodigy of bone and muscle.”
“You should remember it.”
“I’ve but just now made the discovery. I shall have to refurbish my faith in the labours of Hercules and the story of Samson.” He was, as it were, arranging himself inside his clothes. “I don’t resent your physical configuration; it’s educative, as showing what the strength of a man may be. It’s a pity you should be a—— Are you only a fool, or are you something else as well?” He stood up, still arranging himself inside his clothes. He pointed to the plum-coloured cloak. “What’s this?”
“It’s what I’m going to wring your neck for.”
“Is that so? I don’t doubt your capacity, but why exercise it in this particular instance?”
“Then you must satisfy me that, though the heavens fall, no one outside this room shall ever learn there is such a garment in existence—and that you’ll find it difficult to do.”
“You wish me to tell no one of what I’ve found?”
“It’s not an affair of a wish.”