“I’m glad to hear you say that,” answered the Chief, “because there are some things he has told us, about the movements of troops, particularly, that don’t agree in the least with our own Intelligence reports. I am an old enough hand at my job to know that very often one man may be right where fifty independent witnesses are dead wrong. Yet our reports from Germany have been wonderfully accurate on the whole.”
He stopped.
“Tell me,” he asked suddenly, “is Strangwise a liar, do you think?”
Desmond laughed. The question was so very unexpected.
“Let me explain what I mean,” said the Chief. “There is a type of man who is quite incapable of telling the plain, unvarnished truth. That type of fellow might have the most extraordinary adventure happen to him and yet be unable to let it stand on its merits. When he narrates it, he trims it up with all kinds of embroidery. Is Strangwise that type?”
Desmond thought a moment.
“Your silence is very eloquent,” said the Chief drily.
Desmond laughed.
“It’s not the silence of consent,” he said, “but if you want me to be quite frank about Strangwise, Chief, I don’t mind telling you I don’t like him overmuch. We were very intimate in France. We were in some very tight corners together and he never let me down. He showed himself to be a very fine fellow, indeed. There are points about him I admire immensely. I love his fine physique, his manliness. I’m sure he’s got great strength of character, too. It’s because I admire all this about him that I think perhaps it’s just jealousy on my part when I feel...”
“What?” said the Chief.