“At the very earnest request of Mr. Lakington you are to be spared until to-morrow morning. At least, that is our present intention. Of course, there might be an accident in the night: in a house like this one can never tell. Or”—he carefully cut the end off a cigar—“you might go mad, in which case we shouldn’t bother to kill you. In fact, it would really suit our book better if you did: the disposal of corpses, even in these days of advanced science, presents certain difficulties—not insuperable—but a nuisance. And so, if you go mad, we shall not be displeased.”
Once again he smiled genially.
“As I said before, in a house like this, you never can tell....”
The intimidated rabbit, still breathing heavily, was staring at Hugh, fascinated; and after a moment Hugh turned to him with a courteous bow.
“Laddie,” he remarked, “you’ve been eating onions. Do you mind deflecting the blast in the opposite direction?”
His calm imperturbability seemed to madden Lakington, who with a sudden movement rose from his chair and leaned across the table, while the veins stood out like whipcord on his usually expressionless face.
“You wait,” he snarled thickly; “you wait till I’ve finished with you. You won’t be so damned humorous then....”
Hugh regarded the speaker languidly.
“Your supposition is more than probable,” he remarked, in a bored voice. “I shall be too intent on getting into a Turkish bath to remove the contamination to think of laughing.”
Slowly Lakington sank back in his chair, a hard, merciless smile on his lips; and for a moment or two there was silence in the room. It was broken by the unkempt man on the sofa, who, without warning, exploded unexpectedly.