“I knew it,” he cried. “My intuition is never wrong. An English statesman is as fearless as Agamemnon, and as wise as Nestor. Have you your evening free?”
“Yes,” I replied wonderingly.
“Would you care to devote it to a perilous adventure? Not so perilous, for I”—he thumped his chest—“will be there. But still molto gefahrlich.”
His black eyes held mine in burning intensity. So as to hide a smile I lit a cigarette. I know not what little imp in motley possessed me that evening. He seemed to hit me over the head with his bladder, and counsel me to play the fool like himself, for once in my life before I died. I could almost hear him speaking.
“Surely a crazy dwarf out of a nightmare is more entertaining company than decayed Colonels of British Cavalry.”
I blew two or three puffs of my cigarette, and met my guest's eager gaze.
“I shall be happy to put myself at your disposal,” said I. “May I ask, without indiscretion—?”
“No, no,” he interrupted, “don't ask. Secrecy is part of the gigantic combination. En galant homme, I require of you—confidence.”
With an irresistible touch of mockery I said: “Professor Papadopoulos, I will be happy to follow you blindfold to the lair of whatever fire-breathing dragon you may want me to help you destroy.”
He rose and grasped his hat and made me a profound bow.