‘Anything happened?’ Racksole asked.
‘Nothing, sir.’
‘Servants say anything?’
‘Only a dozen or so of ‘em are up yet, sir. One of ‘em asked what I was playing at, and so I told her I was looking after a bull bitch and a litter of pups that you was very particular about, sir.’
‘Good,’ said Racksole, as he unlocked the door and entered the room. All was exactly as he had left it, except that Jules who had been lying on his back, had somehow turned over and was now lying on his face. He gazed silently, scowling at the millionaire. Racksole greeted him and ostentatiously took a revolver from his hip-pocket and laid it on the dressing-table. Then he seated himself on the dressing-table by the side of the revolver, his legs dangling an inch or two above the floor.
‘I want to have a talk to you, Jackson,’ he began.
‘You can talk to me as much as you like,’ said Jules. ‘I shan’t interfere, you may bet on that.’
‘I should like you to answer some questions.’
‘That’s different,’ said Jules. ‘I’m not going to answer any questions while I’m tied up like this. You may bet on that, too.’
‘It will pay you to be reasonable,’ said Racksole.