"For instance, I have a friend who is good enough sometimes to record
my movements. So had Dupin. I smoke a pipe. So did Dupin. I investigate
crime, and I am sometimes successful. Here I differ from Dupin. Dupin
was always successful. But my argument is this--you complain that the
life of Colonel Don Juan Sarmiento Menendez, on his own showing, has
been at least as romantic as his name. It would not be accounted
romantic by the adventurous, Knox; it is only romantic to the prosaic
mind. In the same way his name is only unusual to our English ears. In
Spain it would pass unnoticed."

"I see your point," I said, grudgingly; "but think of I Voodoo in the
Surrey Hills."

"I am thinking of it, Knox, and it affords me much delight to think of
it. You have placed your finger I upon the very point I was
endeavouring to make. Voodoo in the Surrey Hills! Quite so. Voodoo in
some island of the Caribbean Seas, yes, but Voodoo in the Surrey Hills,
no. Yet, my dear fellow, there is a regular steamer service between
South America and England. Or one may embark at Liverpool and disembark
in the Spanish Main. Why, then, may not one embark in the West Indies
and disembark at Liverpool? This granted, you will also grant that from
Liverpool to Surrey is a feasible journey. Why, then, should you
exclaim, 'but Voodoo in the Surrey Hills!' You would be surprised to
meet an Esquimaux in the Strand, but there is no reason why an
Esquimaux should not visit the Strand. In short, the most annoying
thing about fact is its resemblance to fiction. I am looking forward to
the day, Knox, when I can retire from my present fictitious profession
and become a recognized member of the community; such as a press agent,
a theatrical manager, or some other dealer in Fact!"