"What did the fellow do?" asked Randal.
"For one thing, I discovered that he carried a hypodermic syringe; so I watched him—morphia—not a bad case, but getting worse. And then," said Caldegard, looking towards his daughter, "he had the presumption——"
"Oh, father, please!" cried Amaryllis.
"I'm sorry, my dear," said her father. "I was only——"
He was interrupted by a crash, a fumbling and a burst of flame. One of the four-branched candlesticks had been upset, and its rose-coloured shades were on fire. Very coolly the two Bellamys' pinched out the flames and replaced the candles.
"Hope that didn't startle you, Miss Caldegard," said Randal.
"Not a bit," said Amaryllis, smiling.
"What a clumsy devil you are, Dick," he continued.
"I was trying to get the sugar," said Dick.
Randal tasted his coffee. "Cook's got one fault, Dick," he said. "She can't make coffee; and we've been spoiled."