H.M. regarded him with sour amusement.
"But," he grunted, "not one other door or window in this house bears any signs of havin' been tampered with. Oh, no. There's one other explanation, which 1–2' He reflected. "Bowers is the feller we want! Burn me, why have you got to keep me waitin' like this? Fetch Bowers, somebody!"
It was unnecessary to fetch Bowers. At that moment the door was thrown open. There appeared the tubby and choleric figure of Johnson Stone, girded for war. Behind him, more cautious but still defiantly cocky, walked Henry Bowers. Bowers's dignity was supported by a cigar. I have never learned where Stone carried so many of them, and I think he must have had both pockets of his waistcoat lined with good Havanas. The cigar was cocked up in a corner of Bowers's mouth; and on his face was a lofty expression which seemed to say, "As one man of the world to the other, what do you think of the flavour of this weed?"
"I want to say this," said Stone, drawing a deep breath. Bowers was evidently copying Stone's dignity, which was very great. "After doing what I have done for two young ingrates to-night: after having been kept kicking my heels for precisely half an hour in that front room: I want to say this. I want to say that of all the dirty, scrummy, low-down tricks I have ever had played on me
'Come in, Mr. Stone," said H.M. "Come on in. Y'know, I owe you an awful big thunderin' apology."
Frankly, I could not believe my ears. H.M. spoke in a gruff but almost genial and apologetic tone; and it was one of the few times in my life I have ever heard him address anyone as "Mr." There was no blast. There was no riot. Most astonished of all was Stone himself, who stood breathing, while several changes of colour slightly altered his face. Then his own innate knowledge of how to do the handsome thing came to his assistance. He drew himself up. He cleared his throat. He waved aside the apologies. He walked over to the desk with an upright tread.
"Allow me, sir," he said, "to offer you a cigar."
"Mmmm," said H.M., sniffing voluptuously at the Havana. "Good. Siddown here. There's no reason why you shouldn't watch us at the business. You " H.M. turned a baleful eye on Bowers. "I was just goin' to send out after you. You sit down there in front of me. Charters had a go at you once before, with me lookin' on. Now I'm goin' to ask you some questions, and if you lie to me I'll wring your goddam neck. Got that?"
Bowers recognized the voice of authority, and shrank up a trifle. He looked rather wildly at his own cigar, as though wondering how he could dispose of it; then he compromised and held it as though he did not have a cigar at all. Also, he glanced at me. Though he looked at me accusingly, he did not seem at all surprised. I gathered that Stone — who would have got into conversation with a stuffed mummy, if there had been nobody else available — must have been talking to him.
"Coo," said Bowers. "Right you are, sir. Fire away."