"Why?" I said, a little indignantly. "Are you not an Englishman?"
For a moment he did not reply to the blunt question, but looked down at the flags. His feet were cased in red velvet slippers, I noticed, and they struck me as quite indescribably bizarre in the moonlight. His hesitation was too ominous, heavy with unimaginable complexities. His voice was muffled when he spoke.
"No," he said. "I'm—an alien."
At first I was impressed by the tone more than the words. It was mournful, with a streak of satisfaction in his condition that I felt was assumed.
"You mean," I said at last, "that you intend to take out papers?"
He looked at me queerly.
"How long would it take," he inquired with a smile, "to put in five years' residence, when I'm in the country about three days every two months? No, I don't think I'll bother about papers. When I say I'm here for keeps, I mean those belonging to me."
"There is a question I would like to ask you," I said, tentatively.
"I shall be very glad to answer it if I can," he replied.