"Demmed outrage!" sputtered Mr. Van Pycke. "Now I can't take them off."
Mr. Doxey was seized by an inspiration. He smiled. "Why don't you go upstairs and change 'em?" he asked. Mr. Van Pycke moved one foot, evidently agitated by a desire to kick Mr. Doxey. Agrippa growled. "Just to see if he will bite," added the detective, with a nervous laugh.
"You go to the devil, sir!" grated Mr. Van Pycke, but entirely without muscular emotion.
Conversation lagged. For five minutes the three men sat immovable, staring with intensely wakeful eyes at the grim figure of Agrippa, who had eyes for all of them. He had moved farther into the room, possibly for the purpose of indulging in a more or less unobstructed scrutiny of the mysterious group of ladies and gentlemen beyond. Agrippa was puzzled but not disturbed. He was not what you would call an inquisitive dog.
"I have never been so insulted in my life," said Mr. Van Pycke, without raising his voice above a polite monotone.
"Neither have I," said Mr. Doxey.
"You, sir? You are the insult, sir. How can you be insulted? It is impossible to insult an insult. I won't put up with—"
"Keep cool, father," warned Bosworth. "You came very near to moving your leg just then. I warn you."
"I'm quite sure a dog couldn't add anything to the pain I'm already suffering from these demmed shoes. Come here, doggie! Nice doggie!" The wheedling tones made no impression on Agrippa. "What an unfriendly beast!"
The figures in wax down the room were not more rigid than the four creatures above—three men and a dog. A little French clock on the mantelpiece clicked off the seconds in a more or less sonorous manner; Mr. Van Pycke's sighs and the detective's heavy breathing were quite plainly distinguishable, even though the wind howled with lusty lungs at every window in an effort to monopolize attention.