as uttered by Sandison came like the opening of a new chapter of myself. As if some turn of plot had sprung loose from the most imaginative of his books there in their wise ranks surrounding us in the circular room and, in the surprise coil of a sterling tale, captured the story line of my existence. Imagine what that would mean. My telling of the episode in the booze warehouse is shown to be a charade, and I stand revealed as the bootlegging mastermind I was taken for. Possessor of a daring secret existence such as that of the Scarlet Pimpernel during the French Revolution. Avenger in the mask of a people’s hero who causes chaos in the despotic haciendas of the rich and mighty, as per Zorro. Dual personality with an interchangeable identity in the manner of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde—no, that goes much too far. In this doffing of disguise, I simply emerge in my own telling as the Highliner whose appearance I already shared, with access to a safe crammed with cash, a legion of willing henchmen, and a ready-made legend.
