his hobbies. I don't know much about his past life, but I think he must
have had something to do with military tailoring. A designer at the War
Office, perhaps." Beaumaroy gave a low laugh, rather mocking and
malicious. "Still, that doesn't prove a man mad, does it? Perhaps it
ought to, but in general opinion it doesn't, any more than reciting
poetry in bed does."

"Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when--"

"Well, it couldn't have sounded worse if he had been, could it?"

Now he was openly laughing at the Captain's angry bewilderment. He knew
that Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying or
suggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaft
between the joints of his harness. If he got into difficulties through
heedlessness, at least he made a good shot at getting out of them again
by his dexterity. Only, of course, suspicion remains suspicion, even
though it be, for the moment, baffled. And it could not be denied that
suspicions were piling up--Captain Alec, Irechester, even, on one little
point, Doctor Mary! And possibly those two fellows outside--one of them
short and stumpy--had their suspicions too, though these might be
directed to another point. He gave one of his little shrugs as he
followed the silent Captain to the garden gate.

"Good-night. Thanks again. And I hope we shall meet soon," he said
cheerily.

Alec gave him a brief "Good-night" and a particularly formal
military salute.