"Burglar?" I repeated.
"Indeed, no, sir,"—reproachfully. "Mine is a political job."
"A political job?"—thunderstruck.
"Yes, sir; I am an inspector of cellars,"—grimly. "I couldn't get around to this here cellar earlier in the day, sir, and a fellow's work must be done."
Here was a burglar with the sense of humor.
"What can I do for you?" I asked blandly.
"Firstly, as they say, you might tell me what you and this lady are doing in this lonesome cellar."
"Say 'sir,' when you address me."
"Yes, sir."
"The lady and I were playing hide-and-seek."