The impudence, the overpowering audacity of the ragamuffin took Trent's breath away.
"Do you know, you young strangler," he gasped, "that they shoot thieves of your age?"
The child turned a passionless face to Trent. "Shoot, then."
That was too much, and he turned on his heel and entered his hotel.
Groping up the unlighted stairway, he at last reached his own landing and felt about in the darkness for the door. From his studio came the sound of voices, West's hearty laugh and Fallowby's chuckle, and at last he found the knob and, pushing back the door, stood a moment confused by the light.
"Hello, Jack!" cried West, "you're a pleasant creature, inviting people to dine and letting them wait. Here's Fallowby weeping with hunger—"
"Shut up," observed the latter, "perhaps he's been out to buy a turkey."
"He's been out garroting, look at his noose!" laughed Guernalec.
"So now we know where you get your cash!" added West; "vive le coup du Père François!"
Trent shook hands with everybody and laughed at Sylvia's pale face.