[_General surprise._ MRS. FUTVOYE. [_With annoyance._] I don't know why Mr. Pringle should choose to answer for my husband. [_To MR. WACKERBATH._] We considered it _most_ unpleasant. In fact, we can only be thankful it was no worse! PRINGLE. But _are_ you thankful? I haven't noticed any signs of it, _so_ far! HORACE. [_In his ear._] Shut up, can't you? MRS. FUTVOYE. _Really_, Mr. Pringle! [_To MR. WACKERBATH._] I was _about_ to say--when Mr. Pringle interrupted me--that my husband found, on going into his study after lunch this afternoon, that it was completely wrecked. MR. WACKERBATH. Wrecked? You don't say so! MRS. FUTVOYE. Everything--bookcases, all his ancient glass and pottery---- PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. A valuable mummy! MRS. FUTVOYE. Absolutely smashed to atoms! MR. WACKERBATH. Dear me! How unfortunate! [_To the PROFESSOR._] And have you any clue to the--ah--culprit? PRINGLE. [_With a wild sardonic laugh._] Ho-ho! He's no _idea_ who the--ah--culprit is. _Have_ you, Professor? [_Renewed astonishment._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Glaring at PRINGLE._] I can only surmise. _My_ theory is that burglars must have broken in during the night, and that the scoundrels, disgusted at finding nothing of any value to _them_, revenged themselves by doing this irreparable damage. PRINGLE. Bravo, Professor! Does you credit, that theory of yours! _Most_ ingenious! _Must_ have been burglars, of course! With gout in all their four legs--eh, Mrs. Futvoye? [_MRS. FUTVOYE regards him with puzzled displeasure._ HORACE. [_In PRINGLE'S ear._] _Will_ you hold your confounded tongue! MRS. WACKERBATH. [_To the PROFESSOR._] The wretches! But what a mercy that you weren't disturbed! PRINGLE. Oh, the Professor wasn't disturbed--not _he_! "Preserved perfect calm and self-control from first to last"--_didn't_ you, Professor? PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. [_Acidly._] As I was sound asleep during the whole business, sir, I presume I _did_. PRINGLE. Ha-ha! Sound asleep, eh? But you must have had a touch of nightmare when _I_ saw you. PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. When you----! [_Rising and coming towards him._] How and when could _you_ possibly have seen me, Pringle? PRINGLE. Oh, in your study. When you were lashing out at everything--with your hind legs. [_General sensation; MRS. WACKERBATH and MRS. FUTVOYE both rise, and, with SYLVIA, come somewhat nearer PRINGLE._ PROFESSOR FUTVOYE. With my hind legs!... D'you know, my dear Pringle, you're talking rather wildly? PRINGLE.