“My dear fellow, desperate cases require desperate remedies.” “Ah, then you confess that you were even desperately 58anxious to have the clock? Why should you deny it? There is nothing to be ashamed of. Your eight calls have made me quite certain of that, and the fact that you played the spy, looking into my trunk just now.” 58 St. Hilary laughed, a little too boisterously. “Good, good!” he cried. “I confess I didn’t credit my dear dilettante with quite so observing an eye. And if I were to confess that this old clock interests me beyond belief, why should you not satisfy my curiosity? Have you any interest in it? An interest that conflicts with mine, for instance?” and he looked at me curiously. “It is quite possible,” I answered calmly. “And this interest really conflicts with mine?” “Why not?” I answered, smiling at him. “Then I see no reason why I should not go my way and you yours.” He picked up his hat in high dudgeon and walked toward the door. “Nor do I,” I answered, reaching for a cigar. “However, let me remind you that I still have the clock.” It may seem strange and unreasonable that I should have assumed so cautious a tone with the dealer. My interest in the clock was simply that I wished to write up the legend connected with it, if legend there was. But I browbeat him 59to punish him. He had not come to me frankly and openly. He had spied on me and he had lied to me. The penalty for that must be a full confession as to why he attached such tremendous importance to this clock. 59 He stood at the door. His eyes devoured my face with that same searching glance that had so startled me on the Piazza a few days before. “Trust me, St. Hilary,” I said very quietly. “I am not a man to betray a confidence–certainly not the confidence of a friend like you. And it is barely possible I may help you.” “I have thought that, too,” he said, and hesitated. “Then why not?” “Because you are too much of the dilettante, the dreamer,” he said angrily. “Bah, I need a man like the Duke da Sestos–a man that
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