"You, sir? You are the _insult_, sir. How can you be insulted? It is impossible to insult an insult. I won't put up with--" "Keep cool, father," warned Bosworth. "You came very near to moving your leg just then. I warn you." "I'm quite sure a dog couldn't _add_ anything to the pain I'm already suffering from these demmed shoes. Come here, doggie! Nice doggie!" The wheedling tones made no impression on Agrippa. "What an unfriendly beast!" The figures in wax down the room were not more rigid than the four creatures above--three men and a dog. A little French clock on the mantelpiece clicked off the seconds in a more or less sonorous manner; Mr. Van Pycke's sighs and the detective's heavy breathing were quite plainly distinguishable, even though the wind howled with lusty lungs at every window in an effort to monopolize attention. "I shall have that dog shot the very first thing," mused Mr. Van Pycke aloud. "I guess not," protested Bosworth. "He's a corker. I wouldn't take a thousand for him." Then they shot simultaneous glances of apprehension at each other. Each wondered if he had let his cat out of the bag. Bosworth was quick to say to himself: "I see through the governor's game. Well, I'm a dutiful son. I've tried for three of them to-night and Fate has been against me. It means that I'm intended for something better than matrimony." Bosworth's father was thinking: "If I don't ask her at once, he'll propose. And she'll take him in a second if he does. I'll not give him the chance. I'll get it over with inside of five minutes. And I _will_ kill that demmed dog." Agrippa pricked up his ears and turned his head ever so slightly in the direction of the portières behind him. A moment later the light, quick tread of some one was heard in the adjoining room, accompanied by the swish of silky garments. Three pairs of eyes were lifted to the portières. A young woman appeared between the heavy silk curtains. For a second she held an attitude of polite inquiry. Then a wrinkle of perplexity crept into her smooth, white forehead. She looked in surprise from one to the other of the motionless gentlemen, ignoring the detective as completely as if he had not been there at all. What surprised her most was the fact that the Messrs. Van Pycke, noted as the most courteous of men, remained rooted to their chairs. "Good evening," said Bosworth, allowing his gaze to stray from her now indignant face to the commanding jowl of Agrippa. "Pardon me for not arising--pardon all of us, I might say,--but it is quite out of the question. By Jove! Do you happen to know Agrippa? If you don't, please escape while you can. He's--" "Agrippa? Oh!" She had a very soft, musical voice. It was doubly attractive because of an uncertain quaver that bespoke amazement. "Are you Mr. Van Pycke?" She looked at the young man with unmistakable interest--or was it curiosity? "I am Mr. Van Pycke's son," said Bosworth, cautiously inclining his head.