"Yes. It almost seems as though he were actually in our circle of friends, doesn't it?"
"My dear Carmela," she said, "the affair of poor Reggie's death was curious enough, but its motive is absolutely inscrutable. This man who met you last night was, as the police properly described him, a veritable artist. He disguised himself as an owl because the dress of a bird would conceal his real height or any personal deformity, while the face was, of course, entirely hidden by the beaked mask. Had he gone as a pierrot, or in the more ordinary guises, he might have betrayed himself."
"But the return of the stolen money," I observed. "Can you imagine why he ran such a risk? He condemned himself."
"No, I really can't. It is an absolute enigma."
We discussed it for a long time, until the entrance of Felicita caused us to drop the subject. Yes, it was, as Ulrica had declared, an absolute enigma.
About four o'clock in the afternoon, when we had both dressed ready to go out—for we had accepted an invitation to go on an excursion in an automobile up to Tourette—the waiter entered with a card, which Ulrica took and read.
"Oh!" she sighed. "Here's another detective. Don't let him keep us, dear. You know the Allens won't wait for us. They said four o'clock sharp, opposite Vogarde's."
"But we can't refuse to see him," I said.
"Of course not," she replied, and turning to the waiter, ordered him to show the caller up.
"There are two gentlemen," he explained.