The old gentleman started, lifted his eyes with a bland bewilderment, picked up the ferret by the neck, stuffed it alive into his trousers pocket, smiled apologetically, and said: “Sir.” “You are a house-agent, are you not?” asked Rupert. To the delight of that criminal investigator, Mr Montmorency's eyes wandered unquietly towards Lieutenant Keith, the only man present that he knew. “A house-agent,” cried Rupert again, bringing out the word as if it were “burglar”. “Yes... oh, yes,” said the man, with a quavering and almost coquettish smile. “I am a house-agent... oh, yes.” “Well, I think,” said Rupert, with a sardonic sleekness, “that Lieutenant Keith wants to speak to you. We have come in by his request.” Lieutenant Keith was lowering gloomily, and now he spoke. “I have come, Mr Montmorency, about that house of mine.” “Yes, sir,” said Montmorency, spreading his fingers on the flat counter. “It's all ready, sir. I've attended to all your suggestions er--about the br--” “Right,” cried Keith, cutting the word short with the startling neatness of a gunshot. “We needn't bother about all that. If you've done what I told you, all right.” And he turned sharply towards the door. Mr Montmorency, House-Agent, presented a picture of pathos. After stammering a moment he said: “Excuse me... Mr Keith... there was another matter... about which I wasn't quite sure. I tried to get all the heating apparatus possible under the circumstances ... but in winter... at that elevation...” “Can't expect much, eh?” said the lieutenant, cutting in with the same sudden skill. “No, of course not. That's all right, Montmorency. There can't be any more difficulties,” and he put his hand on the handle of the door. “I think,” said Rupert Grant, with a satanic suavity, “that Mr Montmorency has something further to say to you, lieutenant.” “Only,” said the house-agent, in desperation, “what about the birds?” “I beg your pardon,” said Rupert, in a general blank. “What about the birds?” said the house-agent doggedly. Basil, who had remained throughout the proceedings in a state of Napoleonic calm, which might be more accurately described as a state of Napoleonic stupidity, suddenly lifted his leonine head. “Before you go, Lieutenant Keith,” he said. “Come now. Really, what about the birds?” “I'll take care of them,” said Lieutenant Keith, still with his long back turned to us; “they shan't suffer.” “Thank you, sir, thank you,” cried the incomprehensible house-agent, with an air of ecstasy. “You'll excuse my concern, sir. You know I'm wild on wild animals. I'm as wild as any of them on that. Thank you, sir. But there's another thing...”