"My dear fellow," I said, "this mood is new to you."

"Why don't you advise me to remember Auguste Dupin?" asked Harley,
bitterly. "That great man, preserving his philosophical calm, doubtless
by this time would have pieced together these disjointed clues, and
have produced an elegant pattern ready to be framed and exhibited to
the admiring public."

He dropped down upon the bed, and taking his briar from his pocket,
began to load it in a manner which was almost vicious. I stood watching
him and offered no remark, until, having lighted the pipe, he began to
smoke. I knew that these "Indian moods" were of short duration, and,
sure enough, presently:

"God bless us all, Knox," he said, breaking into an amused smile, "how
we bristle when someone tries to prove that we are not infallible! How
human we are, Knox, but how fortunate that we can laugh at ourselves."

I sighed with relief, for Harley at these times imposed a severe strain
even upon my easy-going disposition.

"Let us go down to the billiard room," he continued. "I will play you a
hundred up. I have arrived at a point where my ideas persistently work
in circles. The best cure is golf; failing golf, billiards."

The billiard room was immediately beneath us, adjoining the last
apartment in the east wing, and there we made our way. Harley played
keenly, deliberately, concentrating upon the game. I was less
successful, for I found myself alternately glancing toward the door and
the open window, in the hope that Val Beverley would join us. I was