“I’m not arguing!”
“You are!”
“I’m not!”
Jane Hubbard had practically every noble quality which a woman can possess with the exception of patience. A patient woman would have stood by, shrinking from interrupting the dialogue. Jane Hubbard’s robuster course was to raise the elephant-gun, point it at the front door, and pull the trigger.
“I thought that would stop you,” she said complacently, as the echoes died away and Mr. Bennett had finished leaping into the air. She inserted a fresh cartridge, and sloped arms. “Now, the question is....”
“You made me bite my tongue!” said Mr. Bennett, deeply aggrieved.
“Serve you right!” said Jane placidly. “Now, the question is, have the fellows got away or are they hiding somewhere in the house? I think they’re still in the house.”
“The police!” exclaimed Mr. Bennett, forgetting his lacerated tongue and his other grievances. “We must summon the police!”
“Obviously!” said Mrs. Hignett, withdrawing her fascinated gaze from the ragged hole in the front door, the cost of repairing which she had been mentally assessing. “We must send for the police at once.”
“We don’t really need them, you know,” said Jane. “If you’ll all go to bed and just leave me to potter round with my gun....”