"But I've never been particularly interested in servants, you know," was my self-defensive retort.
"Then why, in the face of the Immortal Ironies, are you putting my butler under the microscope?" was the return shot that came from the flying column. The acidulated sweetness of that attack even nettled me into a right-about-face.
"Look here," I suddenly demanded, "have either of you missed anything valuable about here lately?"
The two gazed at each other for a moment in perplexed wonder.
"Of course not," retorted the woman in the dinner gown. "Not a thing!"
"And you know you have everything intact, all your jewelry, your plate, your pocketbooks, the trinkets a sneakthief might call it worth while to round up?"
"Of course we have. And I can't even resent your bracketing my pocketbook in with the trinkets."
"But are you certain of this? Could you verify it at a moment's notice?"
"My dear Witter, we wouldn't need to. I mean we're doing it every day of our lives. It's instinctive; it's as much a habit as keeping moths out of the closets and cobwebs out of the corners."
"What's making you ask all this?" demanded the heavy artillery.