hat it is prepared to go," he echoed quietly, sinking back
in his chair and puffing at the pipe. "It's a nice point that we
have been discussing together, my flute and I, and I won't say but
that I've got the worst of it. By the way, what do you mean to do
now that you have a fresh start?"

Now I had not tasted tobacco for over four months, and its effect
upon my wits was surprising. It seemed to oil my thoughts till they
worked without a hitch, and I saw my plan of action marked out quite
plainly before me.

"Do you want to know the first step of all?" I asked.

"To be sure; the first step at any rate determines the direction."

"Well then," said I, very steadily, and staring into his face,
"the first step of all is that I am going to kill you."

"H'm," said he after a bit, and I declare that not so much as an
eyelash of the man shook, "I thought as much. I guessed _that_ when
you came into the room. And what next?"

"Time enough then to think of 'what next,'" I answered; for though I
was set upon blowing his brains out, I longed for him to blaze out
into a passion and warm up my blood for the job.

"Pardon me," he said, as coolly as might be, "that would be the very
worst time to think of it. For, just consider: in the first place
you will already be committed to your way of life, and secondly, if I
know anything about you, you would be far too much flurried for any
thought worth the name."

There was a twinkle of frosty humour in his eye as he said this, and
in the silence which followed I could hear him chuckling to himself,
and tasting the words over again as though they were good wine.
I sat fingering my pistol and waiting for him to speak again.
When he did so, it was with another dry chuckle and a long puff of
tobacco smoke.

"As you say, I know a deal too much. Shall I tell you how much?"

"Yes, you may if you'll be quick about it."

"Very well, then, I will. Do you mind passing the bottle?
Thank you. I probably know not only too much, but a deal more than
you guess. First let us take the case for the Crown. The jeweller is
travelling by coach at night over the moors. He has one postillion
only, Roger Tallis by name, and by character shady. The jeweller has
money (he was a niggardly fool to take only one postillion), and
carries a diamond of great, or rather of an enormous and notable
value (he was a bigger fool to take this). In the dark morning two
horses come galloping back, fright