“I did not falsify the account,” cried Carlyle hotly.  He sat down however, and added more quietly:  “But why do I tell you all this?  I have never spoken of it before.”

“Blindness invites confidence,” replied Carrados.  “We are out of the running—­human rivalry ceases to exist.  Besides, why shouldn’t you?  In my case the account was falsified.”

“Of course that’s all bunkum, Max” commented Carlyle.  “Still, I appreciate your motive.”

“Practically everything I possess was left to me by an American cousin, on the condition that I took the name of Carrados.  He made his fortune by an ingenious conspiracy of doctoring the crop reports and unloading favourably in consequence.  And I need hardly remind you that the receiver is equally guilty with the thief.”

“But twice as safe.  I know something of that, Max ...  Have you any idea what my business is?”

“You shall tell me,” replied Carrados.

“I run a private inquiry agency.  When I lost my profession I had to do something for a living.  This occurred.  I dropped my name, changed my appearance and opened an office.  I knew the legal side down to the ground and I got a retired Scotland Yard man to organize the outside work.”

“Excellent!” cried Carrados.  “Do you unearth many murders?”

“No,” admitted Mr. Carlyle; “our business lies mostly on the conventional lines among divorce and defalcation.”

“That’s a pity,” remarked Carrados.  “Do you know, Louis, I always had a secret ambition to be a detective myself.  I have even thought lately that I might still be able to do something at it if the chance came my way.  That makes you smile?”

“Well, certainly, the idea——­”

“Yes, the idea of a blind detective—­the blind tracking the alert—­”

“Of course, as you say, certain facilities are no doubt quickened,” Mr. Carlyle hastened to add considerately, “but, seriously, with the exception of an artist, I don’t suppose there is any man who is more utterly dependent on his eyes.”

Whatever opinion Carrados might have held privately, his genial exterior did not betray a shadow of dissent.  For a full minute he continued to smoke as though he derived an actual visual enjoyment from the blue sprays that travelled and dispersed across the room.  He had already placed before his visitor a box containing cigars of a brand which that gentleman keenly appreciated but generally regarded as unattainable, and the matter-of-fact ease and certainty with which the blind man had brought the box and put it before him had sent a questioning flicker through Carlyle’s mind.

“You used to be rather fond of art yourself, Louis,” he remarked presently.  “Give me your opinion of my latest purchase—­the bronze lion on the cabinet there.”  Then, as Carlyle’s gaze went about the room, he added quickly:  “No, not that cabinet—­the one on your left.”

Carlyle shot a sharp glance at his host as he got up, but Carrados’s expression was merely benignly complacent.  Then he strolled across to the figure.