a duck under full sail rode aggressively over one eye. Mr. Depping, on the other hand, was ⟨uncomfortable⟩; he fidgeted, polished his monocle, stroked his ruddy face, smoothed at the creases of the immaculate trousers on fat legs.
“Er—well?” said Mr. Depping.
“—and furthermore,” said Miss Mertz, “if you think you can bullyrag me, I want to tell you you’ve got another think coming!” She shook her finger, and the duck wagged ominously. “The very idea of this outrage, the very idea! Now, none of your parleyvooing on me, sir; you speak English. Everybody ought to speak English over here; the idea of this foolish talk, widdgy-widdgy, and waving your hands, like a lot of crazy people! It isn’t natural, I say! And—”
“Madame,” said Villon, rather awed; he stumbled, and added deftly: “Mademoiselle, of course!—I do not wish to offend you. We are merely trying to get at the truth of this matter, you see. Just a few questions.”
“Questions! Bah! If you were half a police force you would have solved this thing long ago. The idea!”
“Perhaps mademoiselle has some ideas?” Villon asked politely.
“I have found the murderer,” said Miss Mertz.
There was such an abrupt and appalled silence that Miss Mertz enjoyed the full savor of it before she went on. Then she became theatrical. Flustered, pompous, with glasses and hat coming askew at the same moment, she got up.
“Let a real intelligent person show you how to act, you slow pokes!” she cried. “I want to tell you, if you had more people from the good old U. S. A. around, you’d soon know how to handle these things—wouldn’t they, Depping?”
“Er—of course,” said Mr. Depping.
“Now I'll tell you how I did it. I was coming down
