He remained in a very evil humour, and now the cause of this suddenly
came to light.

"I have spent a thoroughly unpleasant afternoon," he continued,
"interviewing an impossible country policeman who had never heard of my
existence!"

This display of human resentment honestly delighted me. It was
refreshing to know that the omniscient Paul Harley was capable of
pique.

"One, Inspector Aylesbury," he went on, bitterly, "a large person
bearing a really interesting resemblance to a walrus, but lacking that
creature's intelligence. It was not until Superintendent East had
spoken to him from Scotland Yard that he ceased to treat me as a
suspect. But his new attitude was almost more provoking than the old
one. He adopted the manner of a regimental sergeant-major reluctantly
interviewing a private with a grievance. If matters should so develop
that we are compelled to deal with that fish-faced idiot, God help us
all!"

He burst out laughing, his good humour suddenly quite restored, and
taking out his pipe began industriously to load it.

"I can smoke while I am changing," he said, "and you can sit there and
tell me all about Colin Camber."

I did as he requested, and Harley, who could change quicker than any
man I had ever known, had just finished tying his bow as I completed my
story of the encounter at the Lavender Arms.