Mr. Van Pycke had recovered his dignity. "What the devil is the meaning of all this, sir? Explain yourself."
The man picked his way carefully through the group of wax figures. He was a sturdy person whose evening clothes did not fit him, now that one observed him carefully. When he was clear of the group, he calmly turned back the lapel of his coat, revealing a nickel-plated star.
"Does that star signify anything, gents? It says I'm here on this job, that's all. Just to see that nobody walks off with the sparklers. I'm from Wilkerson's Private Detective Agency. See? Now, I'd like to know when and how you got into this room."
He faced them threateningly.
The Van Pyckes started.
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Bosworth, turning quite red.
"Just what I say, young feller. When did you come in here?"
"You say you are a detective!" sneered Bosworth.
The man from Wilkerson's blinked his eyes suddenly. "I—I guess I dropped off to sleep for a couple of minutes. Up for three nights—"
"Do you recognize these trousers?" demanded the young man, pointing to his father's ridiculous legs.