Mr. Van Pycke, senior, had been sitting for some minutes, a strangely preoccupied look in his eyes, his lips twitching as if with pain.
"I guess I'll just set out here," said the detective, looking from one to the other shrewdly. "The town's full of those Raffles crooks. How do I know—"
"Quite right, Doxey. How could you know? You sleep too soundly."
"If you're what you say you are, why don't you call in the footman to identify you?"
"Bellows has already announced us, Mr. Doxey. I'm hanged if I'll ask him to do it over again. Now that I think of it, he almost burst while doing it. It's not my fault that you did not hear him."
Mr. Doxey looked uncomfortable.
"Well, just keep your hands off from the jewels," he said.
Mr. Van Pycke, senior, spoke for the first time in many minutes. It was easy to see where his thoughts had been directed during the trifling dialogue. His gaze was attached to the patent-leather shoes he wore.
"I don't see how that demmed dummy ever got into these shoes. They're almost killing me. Confound it, Bosworth, don't grin like an ape! You are tight, sir,—disgustingly tight!"
"I'll lay you a fiver I'm not so tight as the shoes, dad."