"It is not meant to be impertinent, oh, dear no; oh, no, Mr Paxton, eh?"
Putting up his clawlike hand, the fellow began to rub it against his apology for a chin. Mr. Paxton turned his attention to Mr. Lawrence; it was a peculiarity of that gentleman's bearing that since his appearance on the scene he had never for a single instant removed his beautiful blue eyes from Mr. Paxton's countenance.
"You have asked me one or two curious questions, without giving me any sort of explanation; now perhaps you won't mind answering one or two for me. Have you lost a bag?"
"I can scarcely say that I have lost it. I am parted from it--for a time."
Mr. Paxton stared, as if not comprehending.
"I trust that the parting may not be longer than you appear to anticipate. Was there anything in it of value?"
"A few trifles, which I should not care to lose."
"Where, as you phrase it, did the parting take place?"
"In the refreshment-room at the Central Station--when you went out of it."
Mr. Paxton flushed--it might have been a smart bit of acting, but it was a genuine flush. He looked at the soft-toned but sufficiently incisive speaker as if he would have liked to have knocked him down; possibly, too, came very near to trying to do it. Then seemed to remember himself, confining himself instead to language which was as harsh and as haughty as he could conveniently make it.