“Well, when you’ve got through the introductory matter, or described the symptoms,” said Dick, laughing, “perhaps you’ll administer the pill. Your friends are mad doctors, I suppose?”
Max laughed derisively; and the taller of the two men—a curious-looking fellow, whose ears stood out at either side of his head so that you could look into them—in a sharp, businesslike way took out his pocket-book, and presented a card.
“That is my name and address, sir,” he said—“E. Gilderoy, private inquiry agent. This is one of my assistants.”
“Thankye,” said Dick, smiling. “There now, let’s have an inquiry in private.”
Max hesitated for a moment, and then went on.
“The fact is, Mr Richard Shingle, I have employed these gentlemen to—”
“I know—watch me,” said Dick sharply. “There, you needn’t shrink, Max; I was quite satisfied with the thrashing I gave you before, and if I want you turned out I shall set X Number something to work.”
“I am accustomed to your insults,” said Max, “so say what you like. I say, I employed these gentlemen in the interest of your wife and child as much as in that of the family, since you are so imbecile that you cannot take care of yourself.”
“All right: go on,” said Dick, coolly picking his teeth.
“I don’t care; say what you like—I deserve something for that kicking I gave you.”