"What's this confounded smell?" gasped Mr. O'Hagan, turning when the marauders had vanished into the night. There was a chorus of coughs from the servants.
Tim had turned off the stream of gas, and now opened his door; he felt very much annoyed with the burglars; why had they made such a silly row?
"One of your tricks, Tim?" said Mr. O'Hagan. He gasped again. "Ammonia, begore!"
"It is, Father," said Tim meekly.
"What on earth do you mean by disturbing the whole household in this way? ... Get back to bed," he cried in Spanish to the servants; "all's well now.... Now, sir, just explain this tomfoolery."
"May I come into your room?" asked Tim, anxious that old Andrea should not get into trouble.
"You may, and apologise to your poor mother for disturbing her rest. Now, what have you to say for yourself? Were those fellows outside friends of yours, in the plot too? If so, you're responsible for the murder or maiming of some of them."
"Indeed they're not. They are burglars, and I spoilt their game with ammonia."
"Burglars, eh? But how did you know they were coming? You must have made preparations?"
"I did. Old Fagasta told me to look out for them to-night, and I did so."