"As you like, sir," goes on Peters. "It—it's about the laundress, sir. She's sitting on a man in the basement, sir."
"Wha-a-at?" gasps Waldo.
Tidman takes it out by droppin' a book.
"A dangerous character, we think, sir," says the butler—"most likely one of a gang of burglars. Mrs. Flynn found him lurking in the coal-bin on account of his having sneezed, sir. Then she grappled him, sir."
"Oh, dear!" groans Tidman, his face goin' putty-colored.
"The deuce!" says Waldo. "And you say the laundress has him—er—"
"Quite secure, sir," says Peters. "Both hands in his hair and she sitting on his chest, sir."
"But—but this can't go on indefinitely," says Waldo. "I suppose something ought to be done about it."
"I should suggest sending for the police, sir," says Peters.
"Bother!" says Waldo. "That means my going to police court, and having the thing in the papers, and— Why, Tidman, what's the matter?"