P. Sybarite immediately took occasion to lower his hands to a more comfortable position.
Fright inspired his latent histrionic genius; momentarily he became almost a good actor.
"Thank God!" he exclaimed fervently. "You're the one woman in a thousand who knows enough to look before she shoots! Phwew!"
"You're the one woman in a thousand who knows enough to look before she shoots!"
Quite naturally he drew a braided blue cuff across a beaded forehead.
"That's all very well," the woman took him up sharply—"but be careful I don't shoot after looking. Cop or no cop, you—what the devil do you want in my bedroom at this hour of the night?"
"Madam," P. Sybarite expostulated, aggrieved yet with an air of the utmost candour—"my duty, of course!"
"Duty!" she echoed. "What do you think you mean by that?"
"Perhaps," he countered blandly, "you're not aware a burglar has passed through this room?"