“I do not think that will be necessary,” she answered with some difficulty.
“What is it all about?” said the hammer-man, and there was a slight frown on his brow.
“You ought to know,” returned Bob, as his eyes met swiftly the other’s. For a moment gaze encountered gaze. Bob’s now was sardonically ironical, yet challenging. The hammer-thrower’s was mystified. Then the latter shrugged.
“Is he mad as well as a—” he spoke musingly.
“Thief,” said Bob. “Say it right out. I’m not afraid of the word.”
The hammer-thrower sighed heavily. “What are we to do?” he said to Miss Gerald sympathetically. “It is needless to say, you can command me.”
“Isn’t that lovely?” Sotto voce from Bob.
“I’m terribly afraid the affair has passed from the joke stage,” said Gwendoline Gerald and once more she appeared cool and composed. Again she made Bob feel he was but a matter for consideration—an intrusive and unwelcome matter that had to be disposed of. “What ought I to do?”
“Arrest me, of course,” returned Bob. “I’ve been waiting for it for some time. And the funny part is, the affair hasn’t passed from the joke stage. You know that.” To the hammer-man. “Why don’t you chuckle?”
“I suppose I may as well tell you I’m a bogus lord,” unexpectedly interrupted the monocle-man at this moment. “My name is not even a high-sounding one.” The hammer-thrower started slightly. “It’s plain Michael Moriarity. But I was once a lord’s valet.” He had dropped his drawl, though he still kept his monocle. “I am sorry to have intruded as a real personage among you all, although there are plenty of bogus lords floating through society.”