“We are Members of Parliament,” said Mr. Dick. “We demand to be taken at once before the British Consul.”
He appeared to think, not at all unnaturally, that he had strayed beyond the bounds of His Majesty’s dominions.
“Do shut up,” said Dr. O’Grady, in a whisper. “We don’t believe you’re Members of Parliament. Nor does the Emperor. As a matter of fact, you’re not up to the level of the average county councillor in the way of respectability. Saying absurd things like that will simply enrage the Emperor. He’s frightfully touchy, and the moment he loses his temper he shoots off his pistol. I say,” he went on in a loud tone, “are you there still? Hang it, I believe he’s gone. That’s your fault.” He addressed Mr. Dick. “Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut and let me talk to him? Now the Emperor won’t be back till tea-time, and we’ll have to put up with you till then. Perhaps, as you are here, you’ll kindly explain what you mean by bursting in on us unannounced in this way. You might at least have knocked at the door.”
“I was bathing——” began Mr. Dick.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Just outside the house. He came and took away my clothes.”
“Serves you jolly well right,” said the doctor. “What made you come here, of all places in the world, to bathe? Surely to goodness the Atlantic Ocean is big enough to bathe in without your picking out the exact spot in which the Anti-Military Anarchists are maturing their plans. Why did you do it?”
“Anarchists?” said Mr. Dick.
“Yes, Anti-Military Anarchists—the very worst sort there is.”