" What he did say was:
"A business man? That's rather a general description, Lieutenant
Keith."
Keith looked at him sharply, and then said, with something rather
like ill-temper:
"He's a thingum-my-bob, a house-agent, say. I'm going to see him."
"Oh, you're going to see a house-agent, are you?" said Rupert Grant
grimly. "Do you know, Mr Keith, I think I should very much like to
go with you?"
Basil shook with his soundless laughter. Lieutenant Keith started
a little; his brow blackened sharply.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "What did you say?"
Rupert's face had been growing from stage to stage of ferocious
irony, and he answered:
"I was saying that I wondered whether you would mind our strolling
along with you to this house-agent's."
The visitor swung his stick with a sudden whirling violence.
"Oh, in God's name, come to my house-agent's! Come to my bedroom.
Look under my bed. Examine my dust-bin. Come along!" And with a
furious energy which took away our breath he banged his way out of
the room.
Rupert Grant, his restless blue eyes dancing with his detective
excitement, soon shouldered alongside him, talking to him with that
transparent camaraderie which he imagined to be appropriate from
the disguised policeman to the disguised criminal.
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