"But what's he done?"
"He's a fool," said Micklethwaite with his mouth full, evidently annoyed. "Ugh," he said as soon as he was free to do so.
I waited a little while.
"What's he done?" I ventured.
Micklethwaite did not answer for a moment and crammed things into his mouth vindictively, bread and all sorts of things. Then leaning towards me in a confidential manner he made indignant noises which I could not clearly distinguish as words.
"Oh!" I said, when he had done.
"Yes," said Micklethwaite. He swallowed and then poured himself wine—splashing the tablecloth.
"He had me for an hour very nearly the other day."
"Yes?" I said.
"Silly fool," said Micklethwaite.
I was afraid it was all over, but luckily he gave me an opening again after gulping down his wine.
"He leads you on to argue," he said.
"That———?"
"That he can't prove it."
"Yes?"
"And then he shows you he can. Just showing off how damned ingenious he is."
I was a little confused. "Prove what?" I asked.
"Haven't I been telling you?" said Micklethwaite, growing very red. "About this confounded mermaid of his at Folkestone."
"He says there is one?"
"Yes, he does," said Micklethwaite, going purple
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