“Oh, sorry!” he said.
I spun round. It was the pink-faced chappie, Lord Something or other, the fellow I had met with Claude and Eustace.
“I say,” he said apologetically, “awfully sorry to bother you, but those weren’t my cats I met just now legging it downstairs, were they? They looked like my cats.”
“They came out of my bedroom.”
“Then they were my cats!” he said sadly. “Oh, dash it!”
“Did you put cats in my bedroom?”
“Your man, what’s-his-name, did. He rather decently said I could keep them there till my train went. I’d just come to fetch them. And now they’ve gone! Oh, well, it can’t be helped, I suppose. I’ll take the hat and the fish, anyway.”
I was beginning to dislike this chappie.
“Did you put that bally fish there, too?”
“No, that was Eustace’s. The hat was Claude’s.”