"I don't want to hear about your rug, sir," said the Inspector quite angrily. "If you wish us to try and find the young gentleman you must answer my questions properly. How did he set out to go to Wimbledon? Come, come! Let's begin at the beginning. Which way did they turn when they left your door?"
"You see, they didn't exactly leave by the door," I began.
"How did they go then, out of the window?" asked the Inspector in a somewhat sarcastic voice.
"Yes," I replied, "that's just how they did go."
The Inspector looked bewildered.
"Look here, sir," he said at last, "you told me when you gave me your name and address that you lived in a flat at Kensington on the second floor, and now you tell me that your cousin and a foreign gentleman with an outlandish name and dressed like a Guy Fawkes, left your house by the window. Really!"
"So they did," I explained; "you see, I bought a rug this morning that——"
"Bother the rug, sir!" shouted the Inspector, angrily throwing down his pen.
"If you won't listen to what I have to say," I said with some amount of dignity, "how can I possibly tell you what I know? I am endeavouring to explain that my cousin and the gentleman left in a very remarkable manner by means of a Magic Carpet, which——"
"Excuse me, sir," said the Inspector, getting up from his seat and showing me the door, "it strikes me that it's a lunatic asylum you want and not a Police Station. I haven't any time to waste with people who come here with stories like that. Good-evening!" And he shut the door, leaving me outside on the step.