Presently he laid down his flute again and spoke:--

"I scarcely expected you."

I grunted something in answer.

"But I might have known something was up, if I'd only paid attention
to my flute. It and I are not in harmony to-night. It doesn't like
the secrets I've been blowing into it; it has heard a lot of queer
things in its time, but it's an innocent-minded flute for all that,
and I'm afraid that what I've told it to-night is a point beyond what
it's prepared to go."

"I take it, it knows a damned deal too much," growled I.

He looked at me sharply for an instant, rose, whistled a bar or two
of "Like Hermit Poor," reached down a couple of clay pipes from the
shelf, filled one for himself, and gravely handed the other with the
tobacco to me.

"Beyond what it is prepared to go," he echoed quietly, sinking back
in his chair and puffing at the pipe. "It's a nice point that we
have been discussing together, my flute and I, and I won't say but
that I've got the worst of it. By the way, what do you mean to do
now that you have a fresh start?"

Now I had not tasted tobacco for over four months, and its effect
upon my wits was surprising. It seemed to oil my thoughts till they
worked without a hitch, and I saw my plan of action marked out quite
plainly before me.