“The kind of thing which meets us under the surface of this affair, otherwise without gravity, is unusual—in this precise form at least—and requires special treatment.”
The tone of Sir Ethelred was deepened, full of conviction.
“I should think so—involving the Ambassador of a foreign power!”
“Oh! The Ambassador!” protested the other, erect and slender, allowing himself a mere half smile. “It would be stupid of me to advance anything of the kind. And it is absolutely unnecessary, because if I am right in my surmises, whether ambassador or hall porter it’s a mere detail.”
Sir Ethelred opened a wide mouth, like a cavern, into which the hooked nose seemed anxious to peer; there came from it a subdued rolling sound, as from a distant organ with the scornful indignation stop.
“No! These people are too impossible. What do they mean by importing their methods of Crim-Tartary here? A Turk would have more decency.”
“You forget, Sir Ethelred, that strictly speaking we know nothing positively—as yet.”
“No! But how would you define it? Shortly?”
“Barefaced audacity amounting to childishness of a peculiar sort.”
“We can’t put up with the innocence of nasty little children,” said the great and expanded personage, expanding a little more, as it were. The haughty drooping glance struck crushingly the carpet at the Assistant Commissioner’s feet. “They’ll have to get a hard rap on the knuckles over this affair. We must be in a position to—What is your general idea, stated shortly? No need to go into details.”