“Yes, lad; they’re jus’ behind that there spiky plant in the big tub.”
“There, Mark!” cried Jane, triumphantly. “Burglars! What did I say?”
“Burglars, be hanged!”
“You scoundrel!” cried Sir Hilton. “What were you doing there?” and, as if answering, the piteous wailing of a dog came from outside.
“Trying to get out to my poor little dawg, Sir Rilton, on’y my foot slipped just as I was opening that top light. You oughter be ashamed of yourself, you ought!”
“Well, of all the effrontery!” cried Granton.
“So he oughter, doctor. That there flower-stand’s painted up ter rights, but it’s rotten as touchwood.”
“You ruffian! You broke in, and have been hidden there all the time.”
“Broke in, Sir Rilton. Nay, I wouldn’t do sech a thing. I come in at that glass door right and proper enough, to try and see her ladyship about that pretty little dawg, but she and you was so busy having a row over the family washing that I says to myself, ‘The best thing you can do, Dinny’s to call again,’ and I was going to call again, as I says, when that beggarly rotten old flower-stand give way. Hark at the pretty little dear asking for his master.”
For the puppy whined again.