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"
"Call yourself a gentleman? Outside!"
"I've no use for honesty. It's the small man's flapdoodle, is honesty.
This world isn't made for small men! I am talking to you over there--the
funny little bounder who made the offensive remark just now."
"Are you? Well, take that!"
A glass tumbler, which Mr. Richards dodged in quite a professional
manner, came hurtling through the air and missed the bishop's forehead
by about four inches.
That crowd was past his aid. He turned to go. As he did so, a curious
idea flitted through his brain. This Mr. Richards--was he, perhaps, the
burglar? He was; but Mr. Heard dashed aside the horrible suspicion,
mindful of the mistake he had made about Angelina's character and how
careful one must be in judging of other people. The voice, meanwhile,
pursued him down the stairs.
"No, gentlemen! I've no use for an honest man. He always lets you down.
Fortunately, he is rather rare--"
Mr. Heard slept badly that night, for the first time since his arrival
on Nepenthe.


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