For a long time our knocking and ringing elicited no response. The brilliant state of the door-brass afforded evidence of the fact that Ah Tsong had arisen, even if the other members of the household were still sleeping, and Harley, growing irritable, executed a loud tattoo upon the knocker. This had its effect. The door opened and Ah Tsong looked out.  
“Tell your master that Mr. Paul Harley has called to see him upon urgent business.”
 
“Master no got,” replied Ah Tsong, and proceeded to close the door.
 
Paul Harley thrust his hand against it and addressed the man rapidly in Chinese. I could not have supposed the face of Ah Tsong capable of expressing so much animation. At the sound of his native tongue his eyes lighted up, and:
 
“Tchée, tchée,” he said, turned, and disappeared.
 
Although he had studiously avoided looking at me, that Ah Tsong would inform his master of the identity of his second visitor I did not doubt. If I had doubted I should promptly have been disillusioned, for:
 
“Tell them to go away!” came a muffled cry from somewhere within. “No spy of Devil Menendez shall ever pass my doors again!”
 
The Chinaman, on retiring, had left the door wide open, and I could see right to the end of the gloomy hall. Ah Tsong presently re-appeared, shuffling along in our direction. Unemotionally:
 
“Master no got,” he repeated.
 
Paul Harley stamped his foot irritably.
 
“Good God, Knox,” he said, “this unreasonable fool almost exhausts my patience.”
 
Again he addressed Ah Tsong in Chinese, and although the man’s wrinkled ivory face exhibited no trace of emotion, a deep understanding was to be read in those oblique eyes; and a second time Ah Tsong turned and trotted back to the study. I could hear a muttered colloquy in progress, and suddenly the gaunt figure of Colin Camber burst into view.
 
He was shaved this morning, but arrayed as I had last seen him. Whilst he was not in that state of incoherent anger which I remembered and still resented, he was nevertheless in an evil temper.
 
He strode along the hallway, his large eyes widely opened, and fixing a cold stare upon the face of Harley.
 
“I learn that your name is Mr. Paul Harley,” he said, entirely ignoring my presence, “and you send me a very strange message. I am used to the ways of Señor Menendez, therefore your message does not deceive me. The gateway, sir, is directly behind you.”
 
Harley clenched his teeth, then:
 
“The scaffold, Mr. Camber,” he replied, “is directly in front of you.”
 
“What do you mean, sir?” demanded the other, and despite my resentment of the treatment which I had received at his hands, I could only admire the lofty disdain of his manner.
 
“I mean, Mr. Camber, that the police are close upon my heels.”
 
“The police? Of what interest can this be to me?”
 
Harley’s keen eyes were searching the pale face of the man before him.
 
“Mr. Camber,” he said, “the shot was a good one.”
 
Not a muscle of Colin Camber’s face moved, but slowly he looked Paul Harley up and down, then:
 
“I have been called a hasty man,” he replied, coldly, “but I can scarcely be accused of leaping to a conclusion when I say that I believe you to be mad. You have interrupted me, sir. Good morning.”
 
He stepped back, and would have closed the door, but:
 
“Mr. Camber,” said Paul Harley, and the tone of his voice was arresting.
 
Colin Camber paused.
 
“My name is evidently unfamiliar to you,” Harley continued. “You regard myself and Mr. Knox as friends of the late Colonel Menendez—”
 
At that Colin Camber started forward.
 
“The late Colonel Menendez?” he echoed, speaking almost in a whisper.
 
But as if he had not heard him Harley continued:
 
“As a matter of fact, I am a criminal investigator, and Mr. Knox is assisting me in my present case.”
 
Colin Camber clenched his hands and seemed to be fighting with some emotion which possessed him, then:
 
“Do you mean,” he said, hoarsely—“do you mean that Menendez is—dead?”
 
“I do,” replied Harley. “May I request the privilege of ten minutes’ private conversation with you?”
 
Colin Camber stood aside, holding the door open, and inclining his head in that grave salutation which I knew, but on this occasion, I think, principally with intent to hide his emotion.
 
Not another word did he speak until the three of us stood in the strange study where East grimaced at West, and emblems of remote devil-worship jostled the cross of the Holy Rose. The place was laden with tobacco smoke, and scattered on the carpet about the feet of the writing table lay twenty or more pages of closely written manuscript. Although this was a brilliant summer’s morning, an old-fashioned reading lamp, called, I believe, a Victoria, having a nickel receptacle for oil at one side of the standard and a burner with a green glass shade upon the other, still shed its light upon the desk. It was only reasonable to suppose that Colin Camber had been at work all night.
 
He placed chairs for us, clearing them of the open volumes which they bore, and, seating himself at the desk:
 
“Mr. Knox,” he began, slowly, paused, and then stood up, “I accused you of something when you last visited my house, something of which I would not lightly accuse any man. If I was wrong, I wish to apologize.”
 
“Only a matter of the utmost urgency could have induced me to cross your threshold again,” I replied, coldly. “Your behaviour, sir, was inexcusable.”
 
He rested his long white hands upon the desk, looking across at me.
 
“Whatever I did and whatever I said,” he continued, “one insult I laid upon you more deadly than the rest: I accused you of friendship with Juan Menendez. Was I unjust?”
 
He paused for a moment.
 
“I had been retained professionally by Colonel Menendez,” replied Harley without hesitation, “and Mr. Knox kindly consented to accompa............