"Beastly outrage; it must have been painful."
The professor started in the act of lifting the pajamas again.
"Pain? I did not speak of the physical consequences. They were too terrible to discuss. I—"
The pajamas dropped from his hands and his eyes took on that somewhere-else, far-off look, don't you know.
"Sort of 'third degree' work, Professor?" Billings prodded him.
The professor did not reply. His long, slim fingers swept his forehead for an instant and he looked away again, his little eyes dilated. Somehow it made one feel devilish uncomfortable, dash it!
Billings cocked his eye at me and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. Then he deliberately kicked at the tabouret and sent its brass fixture set clattering noisily across the room.
The professor shivered, compressed his lips and blinked at us.
"Your pardon, gentlemen," he observed in some confusion. "Some one was asking me—"
"What they did to you when you lift—I mean when you lost the—er—loot."