"Well, mooncalf," Frobisher said with bitter raillery. "Well, my paralytic pearl of idiots. Why do you stand there as if somebody was tickling your midriff with a bowie knife?" "Take it and burn it, and destroy it," Hafid muttered. The man was silly with terror. "Take it and burn it, and destroy it." "Oh, Lord, was there ever such a fool since the world began?" Frobisher cried. "If you make that remark again I’ll jamb your head against the wall till your teeth chatter." "Take it and burn it, and destroy it," Hafid went on mechanically. "Master, I can’t help it. My tongue does not seem able to say anything else. Let me go, send me away. I’m not longer to be trusted. I shall run wild into the night with my story." "Yes, and I shall run wild with my story in the day-time, and where will you be then, my blusterer? What’s the matter with the man? Has anybody been murdered?" "No," Hafid said slowly, as if the words were being dragged out of him. "At least, the law could not say so. No, master, nobody has been murdered." "Then what are you making all this silly fuss about? Nobody has been murdered but an inquisitive thief who has accidentally met with his death. Other inquisitive thieves are likely to meet with the same fate. Past master amongst congenial idiots, go to bed." Frobisher shouted the command backed up by a sounding smack on the side of Hafid’s head. He went off without sense or feeling; indeed, he was hardly conscious of the blow. Frobisher sat there smiling, sucking at the marrow of his pipe, and slowly preparing for bed. His alertness and attention never relaxed a moment, his quick ears lost nothing. "Who’s moving in the house?" he muttered. "I heard a door open softly. When people want to get about a house at dead of night it is a mistake to move softly. The action is suspicious, whereas if the thing were openly done, one doesn’t trouble." Frobisher snapped out the lights and stood in the doorway, rigid to attention. Presently the darkness seemed to rustle and breathe, there was a faint suggestion of air in motion, and then silence again. Frobisher grinned to himself as he slipped back into his room. "Angela," he said softly; "I could detect that faint fragrance of her anywhere. Now what’s she creeping about the house at this time for? If she isn’t back again in a quarter of an hour I shall proceed to investigate. My cold and haughty Angela on assignation bent! Oh, oh!"