"You're the Harley who was in Constantinople
in 1912."
"Quite true."
"Then I've come to the wrong shop."
"That remains to be seen, Major."
"But I was told you were a private detective, and all that."
"So I am," said Harley quietly. "In 1912 the Foreign Office was
my client. I am now at the service of anyone who cares to employ
me."
"Hell!" said the Major.
He seemed to be temporarily stricken speechless by the discovery
that a man who had acted for the British Government should be
capable of stooping to the work of a private inquiry agent.
Staring all about the room with a sort of naive wonderment, he
drew out a big silk handkerchief and loudly blew his nose, all
the time eyeing Harley questioningly. Replacing his handkerchief
he directed his regard upon me, and:
"This is my friend, Mr. Knox," said Harley; "you may state your
case before him without hesitation, unless------"
I rose to depart, but:
"Sit down, Mr. Knox! Sit down, sir!" shouted the Major. "I have
no dirty linen to wash, no skeletons in the cupboard or piffle of
that kind. I simply want something explained which I am too
thick-headed--too damned thick-headed, sir--to explain myself."
He resumed his seat, and taking out his wallet extracted from it
a small newspaper cutting which he offered to Harley.
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