"It's his way of calling me a liar, dad, that's all."
"Say, there ain't any Van Pyckes on this list. And this is the correct list, too. The butler gave it to me himself. I—"
Bosworth suddenly lost his playful manner. He was tired of the game.
"That will do, Mr. Doxey. Be good enough to go back to your corner," he said coldly. "I mean it. Don't stand there glaring. It has no effect on me. I am Mr. Bosworth Van Pycke. I don't blame you for protecting the jewels—even from Van Pyckes—but there's nothing more for you to do, so far as we are concerned. We are waiting for Mrs. Scoville and her guests. And, say, on your way back to your chair—or was it a couch?—be good enough to drape a table cover about the limbs of that unfortunate person with the bald head—and bald legs, I might add."
Mr. Doxey looked from one to the other with interest, not to say curiosity. Something in the young man's manner carried conviction.
"Are you the—the Buzzy Van Pycke who gave the supper for Carmen the other—"
"I am," Bosworth interjected. "I didn't see you there, Mr. Doxey."
Mr. Doxey snickered. "My wife wouldn't 'a' stood for me—"
"My good man, there were a number of married men there. All of 'em, no doubt, were being shadowed by detectives. I thought perhaps you might have got in—but, there! I am tattling. Please sit down, Mr. Doxey."
He threw himself into a comfortable chair and crossed his legs. Then he proceeded to light a cigaret.