"You know, I suppose, that this is a hired house," said she, as she led the way, "and that there is nothing here belonging to Mr. French but the horses?"
"Yes," said Mr. Piper. "I asked at the station about that, although my instructions mainly concerned the horses. House and furniture belong to Mr. Emmanuel Ibbetson. Still," concluded he, "I must attend to it that nothing is moved from here, neither stick nor stone, till further orders."
"If Mr. Ibbetson wanted to take his furniture away," said Miss Grimshaw, almost losing command of her temper, "I don't think you could stop him."
"That's not the question at isha," replied Mr. Piper. "I'm thinking of French."
"You mean, I presume, Mr. French?"
"Precisely."
"Moriarty," said Miss Grimshaw, "show this—man the horses."
Moriarty opened the upper door of a loose-box, and The Cat thrust her evil head out. The Cat by Isonomy II. out of Express, would have won her owner much money, only for her temper. She had a fleering eye. The Cat's under lip and the cock of her ears were the two points you noticed at close quarters, till she nobbled you, and took a piece out of your arm, or let fly, and, to use the language of Moriarty, "kicked you to flinders."
"Look out!" yelled Moriarty. He wasn't a moment too soon, for in another second The Cat would have had the bailiff.
Piper stepped back and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. To be snapped at by a horse is not a pleasant experience.