T. X. looked up at the ceiling and stroked his chin.
“I suppose that I ought to arrest you. I feel that something is due from me. May I ask if you were sleeping in the bed downstairs?”
“In the lower cellar?” she demanded,—a little pause and then, “Yes, I was sleeping in the cellar downstairs.”
There was that interval of hesitation almost between each word.
“What are you going to do?” she asked again.
She was feeling more sure of herself and had suppressed the panic which his sudden appearance had produced in her. He rumpled his hair, a gross imitation, did she but know it, of one of his chief's mannerisms and she observed that his hair was very thick and inclined to curl. She saw also that he was passably good looking, had fine grey eyes, a straight nose and a most firm chin.
“I think,” she suggested gently, “you had better arrest me.”
“Don't be silly,” he begged.
She stared at him in amazement.
“What did you say?” she asked wrathfully.