"Certainly he does!" Trenmore's affirmative drowned out the burglar's plaintive negative. "If you don't," he added in his victim's ear, "I'll wring the round head off you!"
Mr. Arnold Bertram succumbed. Between two dangers, he chose the pit.
"Very well, y'r honor," he stammered. "I–I guess I'll have a go at it."
"Come forward then," snapped the master of ceremonies impatiently. "What is your number, place of residence, occupation, and age? Answer in order and speak clearly, please."
"My-Say, I ain't got no number."
"What?" Pity glanced frowningly at Bertram's lapel, and saw the green button with which Loveliest had supplied him. "With whose family are you connected?"
Just then Cleverest, who had been sitting quietly among the servants, rose and strolled to the front. He looked Bertram over; then turned to the throne.
"Your Supremity, this is one of those four strangers of whom you are already informed. Is it permitted that the usual questions be omitted?"
Both Mr. Pity and the Superlative seemed to interpret the inarticulate snarl which replied as assent. The latter gentleman, after giving Viola an encouraging smirk, sauntered back to his seat.
"Very well," said Pity. "But I must call you something you know. Haven't you any title?"