"Beg pardon, sir," said Higgins, stirring his lather as I returned from the bath to submit my chin to his razor—"beg pardon, sir, but—but the pig, sir——"
"What pig?" I asked sharply. Had Higgins beheld me pursuing that midnight porker? And if he had, was he going to tell about it?
"What pig, sir? Why, the pig, sir."
"I do not understand you, Higgins," I said coldly.
"Beg pardon, sir, but Miss Alida asked me to tell you, that the pig——"
"What pig?" I repeated exasperated.
"Why—why—ours, sir."
I turned to stare at him. "My pig?" I asked.
"Yes, sir—he's gone, sir——"
"Gone!" I thundered.