The stillness continued. Mr. Ledbetter's head was now on the floor, and he could see the stout legs as far as the shins. They were quite still. The feet were resting on the toes and drawn back, as it seemed, under the chair of the owner. Everything was quite still, everything continued still. A wild hope came to Mr. Ledbetter that the unknown was in a fit or suddenly dead, with his head upon the writing-table....
The stillness continued. What had happened? The desire to peep became irresistible. Very cautiously Mr. Ledbetter shifted his hand forward, projected a pioneer finger, and began to lift the valance immediately next his eye. Nothing broke the stillness. He saw now the stranger's knees, saw the back of the writing-table, and then--he was staring at the barrel of a heavy revolver pointed over the writing-table at his head.
“Come out of that, you scoundrel!” said the voice of the stout gentleman in a tone of quiet concentration. “Come out. This side, and now. None of your hanky-panky--come right out, now.”
Mr. Ledbetter came right out, a little reluctantly perhaps, but without any hanky-panky, and at once, even as he was told.
“Kneel,” said the stout gentleman, “and hold up your hands.”
The valance dropped again behind Mr. Ledbetter, and he rose from all-fours and held up his hands. “Dressed like a parson,” said the stout gentleman. “I'm blest if he isn't! A little chap, too! You SCOUNDREL! What the deuce possessed you to come here to-night? What the deuce possessed you to get under my bed?”
He did not appear to require an answer, but proceeded at once to several very objectionable remarks upon Mr. Ledbetter's personal appearance. He was not a very big man, but he looked strong to Mr. Ledbetter: he was as stout as his legs had promised, he had rather delicately-chiselled small features distributed over a considerable area of whitish face, and quite a number of chins. And the note of his voice had a sort of whispering undertone.
“What the deuce, I say, possessed you to get under my bed?”
Mr. Ledbetter, by an effort, smiled a wan propitiatory smile. He coughed. “I can quite understand--” he said.
“Why! What on earth? It's SOAP! No!--you scoundrel. Don't you move that hand.”