“Somebody closed the front door.”
The porter slipped out of the room and tiptoed towards the hall.
Instantly George fell upon his face. . . .
He had one arm beneath the bath when the porter reappeared.
“Thort as much,” said the latter, “you young cunnin’ brute. An’ now I ’ave got yer—cold. You’re for it, my son. I wouldn’ give much fer your chances. ’Tempt ter commit a felony—that’s wot it is. Stolen ‘order to view’—passin’ yerself orf as Keptin Chellenger—temptin’ ter bribe . . . an’ all fer a little green stone as don’ belong to yer.”
George extricated his arm and rose to his feet.
“Don’t be a fool,” he said shortly. “When was it found?”
The porter entered the bathroom and approached to Fulke’s a perfectly furious countenance.
“ ‘Fool’?” he breathed. “ ‘Fool’ did joo say?”
George recoiled, and the face proportionately advanced. Its eyes were blazing: its chin protruded out of all reason.