Alec Naylor clapped his cap back on his head. "I'm off too," he
said abruptly.
"Well, you insisted on seeing him, and you've seen him. What about it
now?" asked Beaumaroy.
Alec eyed him with a puzzled baffled suspicion. "You switched him on to
that subject on purpose, and by means of something uncommon like a lie."
"A little artifice! I knew it would interest you, and it's quite one of
his hobbies. I don't know much about his past life, but I think he must
have had something to do with military tailoring. A designer at the War
Office, perhaps." Beaumaroy gave a low laugh, rather mocking and
malicious. "Still, that doesn't prove a man mad, does it? Perhaps it
ought to, but in general opinion it doesn't, any more than reciting
poetry in bed does."
"Do you mean to tell me that he was reciting poetry when--"
"Well, it couldn't have sounded worse if he had been, could it?"
Now he was openly laughing at the Captain's angry bewilderment. He knew
that Alec Naylor did not believe a word of what he was saying or
suggesting; but yet Alec could not pass his guard, nor wing a shaft
between the joints of his harness.
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