At first I was inclined to regard Kirk as a madman, yet on looking into his face I saw an expression of open earnestness, and somehow I felt that he was telling me the curious truth.
“I certainly thought there were no exceptions,” I said.
“I am one of the few,” he replied. “They dare not place me in a criminal dock.”
“Why?”
“For certain reasons”—and he smiled mysteriously—“reasons which you, if you become my friend, may some day discover. I live here in this by-road of a London suburb, but this is not my home. I have another—a long way from here.”
And, turning from me suddenly, he addressed questions to Joseph, asking him his opinion of me.
“Where’s your coat?” screeched the bird. “Where’s your coat? Good night!”
The whole scene was strangely weird and incongruous. Kirk at one moment speaking of a remarkable tragedy and at the next chaffing his pet.
At last, however, I fixed my host to the point, and asked him straight out what had occurred.
“Well,” he said, placing down his pipe and resting His protruding chin upon his right hand, as he gazed across at me, “just follow me for a few moments, and I’ll describe, as best I can, all that is known of the affair—or, rather, all I know of it. Do you happen to know Sussex Place, Regent’s Park?”