"The devil you do!" said he. "What an ass I was to mention it to you!
I might have thought. Anyhow, it will give you an inkling
of our--mysteries. Whiskey?"

"No, thanks; I'm an abstainer."

"I wish I'd been. But it's no use locking the door
after the steed is stolen. It was that infernal
stuff which led to my coming here,--that, and a foggy night.
I thought myself in luck at the time, when Moreau offered to get me off.
It's queer--"

"Montgomery," said I, suddenly, as the outer door closed, "why has
your man pointed ears?"

"Damn!" he said, over his first mouthful of food. He stared at me
for a moment, and then repeated, "Pointed ears?"

"Little points to them," said I, as calmly as possible, with a catch
in my breath; "and a fine black fur at the edges?"

He helped himself to whiskey and water with great deliberation.
"I was under the impression--that his hair covered his ears."

"I saw them as he stooped by me to put that coffee you sent to me
on the table. And his eyes shine in the dark."

By this time Montgomery had recovered from the surprise of my question.
"I always thought," he said deliberately, with a certain
accentuation of his flavouring of lisp, "that there _was_ something