He was incredibly convincing at that moment. There was a wry half-smile
on his face. He looked absolutely human; absolutely like the British
correspondent Coburn had met in Salonika. He was too convincing. Coburn
knew he would suspect his own sanity unless he made sure.
"You're not only unofficial," said Coburn grimly. His hand came up over
the edge of the staff-car door. It had his revolver in it. It bore
inexorably upon the very middle of Dillon's body. "You're not human,
either! You're not a man! Your name isn't Dillon! You're--something I
haven't a word for! But if you try anything fancy I'll see if a bullet
through your middle will stop you!"
Dillon did not move. He said easily: "You're being absurd, my dear
fellow. Put away that pistol."
"You slipped!" said Coburn thickly. "You said the Greeks played a trick
on this raiding party. But you played it. At Ardea, when you climbed
that cliff--no man could climb so fast. No man could run as you ran down
into this village. And I saw that body you're wearing when you weren't
in it! I followed you up the cliff when--" Coburn's voice was ragingly
sarcastic--"when you were taking pictures!"
* * * * *