William turned deathly pale. He then fixed me with a terrible stare of accusation and reproach.
"No, no, William," I protested frantically, "I assure you on my honour that I haven't been talking."
This assurance calmed him somewhat. Bit by bit the colour came back to his cheeks and at length he was able to remark more hopefully: "Well, there's this to be said for it, most of my wives are sportswomen. I don't think they'll give me away."
Are you an anarchist?
"No," answered William frankly, "but I possess a brother-in-law who has leanings towards Rosicrucianism. Next, please."
The next was a very searching, legally-worded inquiry. It demanded at great length to be informed whether William was a person who advocated the overthrow by force or violence of the Government of the Great Power, or all forms of Law, or believed in the propriety of assassinating any or every officer of the Great Power because of his official character.
William took up the paper-knife with an expression of sheer animal ferocity. "Yes," he hissed, "the whole lot. Torturing them, too!"—and fell back into his chair with peal upon peal of maniacal laughter.
* * * * * * *
William was practically a wreck before the inquisition came to an end. He had not even sufficient spirit left to fly at me for entering his distinguishing marks as "a general air of honesty, tempered by a slight inward squint."