You're a good cake-hound,
but as a watch-dog you don't finish in the first ten."
The cake-hound, charmed at the compliment, frisked about her feet like
a young elephant.
"The first thing to do," continued Jane, "is to go through the
ground-floor rooms...." She paused to strike a match against the suit
of armour nearest to her, a proceeding which elicited a sharp cry of
protest from Mrs. Hignett, and lit a cigarette. "I'll go first, as I've
got a gun...." She blew a cloud of smoke. "I shall want somebody with me
to carry a light, and...."
"Tchoo!"
"What?" said Jane.
"I didn't speak," said Mr. Mortimer. "Who am I to speak?" he went on
bitterly. "Who am I that it should be supposed that I have anything
sensible to suggest?"
"Somebody spoke," said Jane. "I...."
"Achoo!"
"Do you feel a draught, Mr. Bennett?" cried Jane sharply, wheeling
round on him.
"There _is_ a draught," began Mr. Bennett.
"Well, finish sneezing and I'll go on."
"I didn't sneeze!"
"Somebody sneezed.
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