“Oh, it’s all right, Mr. Otter,” returned Wolf. “It’s only that I never can sleep in a room with large pictures. It’s a peculiarity of mine.”

No sooner had Jason heard this expression, “a peculiarity of mine,” than his whole visage changed. A childish mischievousness illuminated his pallid physiognomy, and he chuckled audibly, nodding his head.

“A peculiarity? That’s excellent. That’s what Bluebeard used to say. ‘It’s a peculiarity of mine.’ I think that’s one of the prettiest excuses I’ve ever heard.”

This explosion was so surprising to Wolf that all he could do was to open his mouth and stare at the man. But the humour passed as quickly as it had come. The face unwrinkled itself. The eyes became supplicatory. The mouth tightened in solemn misery.