"I don't know what you mean," said Mr. Roper, hastily edging toward the door; "your language is most uncalled for. And as to going away, I shall do nothing of the kind."
"Better think it over," said Winn, with misleading calm. He moved forward as he spoke, seized Mr. Roper by the back of his coat as if he were some kind of boneless mechanical toy, and deposited him in the passage outside the door.
Mrs. Bouncing screamed again. This time it was a shrill and gratified scream. She felt herself to be the heroine of an occasion. Winn eyed her as a hostile big dog eyes one beneath his fighting powers. Then he said:
"I shouldn't make that noise if I were you; it's out of place. I came here to give you bad news."
This time Mrs. Bouncing didn't scream. She took hold of the edge of the table and repeated three times in a strange, expressionless voice:
"George is dead! George is dead! George is dead!"
Winn thought she was going to faint, but she didn't. She held on to the table.
"What ought I to do, Major Staines?" she asked in a quavering voice.
Winn considered the question gravely. It was a little late in the day for Mrs. Bouncing to start what she ought to do, but he approved of her determination.
"I think," he said at last—"I think you ought to go in and look at him. It's usual."