“Y’ admit it, then?”

“Yes.  As a matter of fact, I did have the idea of kidnapping Ogden.  Wanted to send him to a dogs’ hospital, if you understand what I mean.”  He tried to smile a conciliatory smile, but, encountering Miss Trimble’s left eye, abandoned the project.  He removed a bead of perspiration from his forehead with his handkerchief.  It struck him as a very curious thing that the simplest explanations were so often quite difficult to make.  “Before I go any further, I ought to explain one thing.  Skinner there is my father.”

Mrs. Pett gasped.

“Skinner was my sister’s butler in London.”

“In a way of speaking,” said Jimmy, “that is correct.  It’s rather a long story.  It was this way, you see. . . .”

Miss Trimble uttered an ejaculation of supreme contempt.

“I n’ver saw such a lot of babbl’ng crooks in m’ life! ’t beats me what y’ hope to get pulling this stuff.  Say!” She indicated Mr. Crocker.  “This guy’s wanted f’r something over in England.  We’ve got h’s photographs ‘n th’ office.  If y’ ask me, he lit out with the spoons ’r something.  Say!” She fixed one of the geniuses with her compelling eye. “‘Bout time y’ made y’rself useful.  Go’n call up th’ Astorbilt on th’ phone.  There’s a dame there that’s been making the enquiries f’r this duck.  She told Anderson’s—­and Anderson’s handed it on to us—­to call her up any hour of the day ’r night when they found him.  You go get her on the wire and t’ll her t’ come right up here’n a taxi and identify him.”

The genius paused at the door.

“Whom shall I ask for?”

“Mrs. Crocker,” snapped Miss Trimble.  “Siz Bingley Crocker.  Tell her we’ve found th’ guy she’s been looking for!”

The genius backed out.  There was a howl of anguish from the doorway.

“I beg your pardon!” said the genius.

“Can’t you look where you’re going!”

“I am exceedingly sorry—­”

“Brrh!”

Mr. Pett entered the room, hopping.  He was holding one slippered foot in his hand and appeared to be submitting it to some form of massage.  It was plain that the usually mild and gentle little man was in a bad temper.  He glowered round him at the company assembled.

“What the devil’s the matter here?” he demanded.  “I stood it as long as I could, but a man can’t get a wink of sleep with this noise going on!”

“Yipe!  Yipe!  Yipe!” barked Aida from the shelter of Mrs. Pett’s arms.

Mr. Pett started violently.

“Kill that dog!  Throw her out!  Do something to her!”

Mrs. Pett was staring blankly at her husband.  She had never seen him like this before.  It was as if a rabbit had turned and growled at her.  Coming on top of the crowded sensations of the night, it had the effect of making her feel curiously weak.  In all her married life she had never known what fear was.  She had coped dauntlessly with the late Mr. Ford, a man of a spirited temperament; and as for the mild Mr. Pett she had trampled on him.  But now she felt afraid.  This new Peter intimidated her.