"You're a fool! What's this fellow like?"
"The gentleman"—Moggat laid ever so little stress on the word—"is tall, sir, and—er—slim. He is somewhat dark as regards eyes and brows, and he is dressed, if I may say so, exceedingly modishly, with a point-edged hat, and very full-skirted puce coat, laced, French fashion, with—"
Tom snatched his nightcap off and threw it at Moggat.
"Numskull! D'ye think I want a list of his clothes? Show him out, the swarthy rogue! Show him out!"
Moggat picked up the nightcap, and smoothed it sadly.
"The gentleman seems anxious to see you, sir."
"Ay! Trying to dun me, the rascal! Don't I know it! Blustering and—"
"No, sir," said Moggat firmly. "I could not truthfully say that the gentleman blustered. Indeed, sir, if I may say so, I think him a singularly quiet, cool gentleman. Very soft-spoken, sir—oh, very soft-spoken!"
"Take him away!" shouted Tom. "I tell you I'll not be pestered at this hour! I might be asleep, damme! Tell the fellow to come again at a godly time—not at dawn! Now, don't try to argue, Moggat! I tell you, if it were my brother himself, I'd not see him!"
Moggat bowed again.