"Ar!" he said. "Git in."
For about three minutes after the taxi started neither of us spoke. Then Bruce broke the silence.
"Well," he said, "d'you believe it now?"
I turned on him angrily.
"Look here," I cried, "don't talk blithering rot! The thing's impossible! You know it as well as I do!"
He shook his head.
"Well, what about Mrs. Jones?" he said obstinately.
"Mrs. Jones," I repeated, "is the victim of the same disease that you're suffering from—common or garden hysteria. No doubt she was listening at the door, and overheard your tomfool nonsense with that ridiculous monkey. Being a highly strung, passionate sort of woman——"
Bruce cut me short.
"Jones," he said, "is always complaining that she's too cold."