He glared and Rudge glared from his place on the farther curb. Evidently the police were not in favor with the occupants of the cottage that morning.
“When is this to cease?” he curtly demanded. “When are these early-morning trespasses upon an honest citizen’s property coming to an end? I wake with a light heart, expecting that my house, which is certainly as much mine as is any man’s in Washington, would be handed over this very day for my habitation, when what do I see—one police officer leaving the front door and another sunning himself in the vestibule. How many more of you are within I do not presume to ask. Some half-dozen, no doubt, and not one of you smart enough to wind up this matter and have done with it.”
“Ah! I don’t know about that,” I drawled, and looked very wise.
His curiosity was aroused.
“Anything new?” he snapped.
“Possibly,” I returned, in a way to exasperate a saint.
He stepped on to the porch beside me. I was too abstracted to notice; I was engaged in eying Rudge.
“Do you know,” said I, after an instant of what I meant should be one of uncomfortable suspense on his part, “that I have a greater respect than ever for that animal of yours since learning the very good reason he has for refusing to cross the street?”
“Ha! what’s that?” he asked, with a quick look behind him at the watchful brute straining toward him with nose over the gutter.
“He sees farther than we can. His eyes penetrate walls and partitions,” I remarked. Then, carelessly and with the calm drawing forth of a folded bit of paper which I held out toward him, I added: “By the way, here is something of yours.”