"That's what I'm going to do," said Clayton.

"They won't work," said Evans.

"If they do--" I suggested.

"You know, I'd rather you didn't," said Wish, stretching out his legs.

"Why?" asked Evans.

"I'd rather he didn't," said Wish.

"But he hasn't got 'em right," said Sanderson, plugging too much
tobacco in his pipe.

"All the same, I'd rather he didn't," said Wish.

We argued with Wish. He said that for Clayton to go through those
gestures was like mocking a serious matter. "But you don't believe--?"
I said. Wish glanced at Clayton, who was staring into the fire, weighing
something in his mind. "I do--more than half, anyhow, I do," said Wish.

"Clayton," said I, "you're too good a liar for us. Most of it was
all right. But that disappearance . . . happened to be convincing.
Tell us, it's a tale of cock and bull."

He stood up without heeding me, took the middle of the hearthrug,
and faced me. For a moment he regarded his feet thoughtfully, and
then for all the rest of the time his eyes were on the opposite wall,
with an intent expression. He raised his two hands slowly to the level