“Very well, I repeat. And now you must explain, sir. You must explain. I don’t want to pre-judge you. I never pre-judge anybody. But I don’t like it, sir. I don’t like it. And you must allow me to remind you that this is not the first time that you have obliged me to discuss your trousers.”
“Sir,” I replied, “I am deeply aware of it, and none can regret it more than myself, nor the painful circumstances that you have, I think justly, now compelled me to disclose.”
I then very briefly, but with all essential details, described my encounter with Mr. Maidstone, concluding with the numbers of the two constables and a surmise that he was being detained to see the magistrate.
When I had finished, Mr. Chrysostom was breathing heavily, while Mr. Cake was engaged in silent prayer. Then they both rose and stood with their backs to the trousers while Mr. Chrysostom gave his orders.
“Miss Botterill,” he said, “when Mr. Maidstone arrives, you will please request him to come to my room. Mr. Carp, having removed your trousers, you will kindly take charge of the show-room.”
Colouring deeply, Mr. Cake touched him on the arm. “I suppose you refer,” he said, “to the trousers on the counter.”
“Eh, what?” said Mr. Chrysostom. “Yes, yes, of course. The trousers on the counter. You didn’t suppose——?”
“I endeavoured not to,” said Mr. Cake. “But perhaps it would have been better to be more explicit.”
Slightly ruffled, however, as was the eminent novelist by the occasion and manner of his reception, he was completely emphatic, as he afterwards assured me, on the necessity for dismissing Mr. Maidstone; and indeed Mr. Chrysostom, as he also informed me, had needed very little in the way of persuasion.
“In fact, I think I may say,” he said, a couple of hours later, as he passed through the show-room on his way to the street, “that Gnashers of Teeth will find a good friend in Mr. Maidstone’s successor.”