“Try. Say ‘Oh don’t, I’m busy.’”
“I can’t!” said Dimmy again.
“Great heavens! is there no limit to the things you can’t do?” said William Bailey testily. “Try.”
At a vast sacrifice of that self-respect which was his chiefest treasure, Dimmy uttered the grotesque words in a faint falsetto.
“Excellent!” said William Bailey. “Now when you hear the word ‘Rebecca’ that’s your cue. Say it again.”
The second step is easier than the first, and Dimmy this time replied at once, the falsetto quite just: “Oh don’t, I’m busy.” And William Bailey was satisfied.
By this time the policemen could be heard scrambling down from the roof; they had found nothing, which, seeing that the roof was in shape exactly pyramidical, was not wonderful.
“Well, he’s gone, sir,” said the bass a little relieved.
“We must see the bathroom before we leave, though,” added the tenor fixedly.
“By all means,” said William Bailey, “if it’s empty,” he added with a decent reserve.