CHAPTER XXII
THE UNMASKING OF SMITH
"HE shall hear what I have to say," exploded Sir John Hildreth angrily. Then, without waiting for a reply, he continued, "Here am I dashing all over the country, inserting advertisements, thinking of notifying the police even, whilst that infernal young—"
"The police must have been a recent idea, John," put in Mrs. Compton-Stacey, quietly. "This is the first I have heard of it."
"Don't interrupt me, Charlotte," he cried, picking up the thread of his discourse. "I have every reason to be annoyed, being led this wild-goose chase about the country, when I might have been, er—" He paused, blinking uncertainly. It was annoying not to be able to think of anything else he might have been doing.
"There was nothing you could have been doing, John," said Mrs. Compton-Stacey placidly, "except reading trashy novels, or bullying poor—"
"They're not trashy, and I don't bully," he retorted lamely. "I—I expostulate occasionally. If it hadn't been for the idea I got out of a novel, we shouldn't have found Darrell," he added with inspiration.
"And if you hadn't bullied him because his taste in women was not your own, we should not have lost him," she replied calmly. "Besides, we haven't found him yet," she added.
There was silence for several minutes. Sir John was grappling with his sister's logic.
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