Mr. Doxey snickered. Van Pycke, père, glared at him in a shocked sort of way for a moment, and then, disdaining the affront, fell to tenderly pressing each of his insteps, very much as if trying to discover a spot that had not yet developed a pain.
The detective took a seat where he could watch the two gentlemen and at the same time keep an eye on the door through to the dining-room far beyond. Bosworth smoked in silence for some time.
"What's the meaning of all this?" he asked, after a while, indicating the group of dummies with a comprehensive sweep of his hand.
"I'm not here to answer questions," said Mr. Doxey, succinctly.
"Oh!" said Bosworth.
Mr. Van Pycke stirred restlessly. "By Jove, I think I'll—'I'll have to go upstairs and change these shoes for my own, wet or dry. I can't stand 'em any longer. I dare say my trousers are dry by this time, too." He arose with great deliberateness. He took two delicate steps toward the hall door; then Mr. Doxey's irritatingly brusque voice brought him up with a jerk.
"Hold on, there! None o' that—none o' that! You set right where you are, mister. I guess I'll just keep you in plain view for a while. Fine work, me lettin' you go upstairs, eh? Fine work, I don't think!"
"Confound you, sir, I'll—" began Mr. Van Pycke, drawing himself to his full height with a spasmodic effort that brought its results in pain.
"Sit down, father," advised Bosworth, gently. Mr. Van Pycke sat down. "There's some one coming," added his son a moment later. He arose and turned toward the portières at the upper end of the room, prepared to greet the beautiful Mrs. Scoville.
The portières parted at the bottom. All eyes were lowered. The most unamiable looking bulldog that ever crossed man's path protruded his squat body into the room, pausing just inside the curtains to survey the trio before him in a most disconcertingly pointed manner. His whole body seemed to convert itself into a scowl of disapproval.