"A customer has a perfect right," said Northover hotly, "to
question an alleged overcharge, but, confound it all, not to throw
furniture."

"What, in God's name, do you mean by your customers and
overcharges?" shrieked Major Brown, whose keen feminine nature,
steady in pain or danger, became almost hysterical in the presence
of a long and exasperating mystery. "Who are you? I've never seen
you or your insolent tomfool bills. I know one of your cursed
brutes tried to choke me--"

"Mad," said Northover, gazing blankly round; "all of them mad. I
didn't know they travelled in quartettes."

"Enough of this prevarication," said Rupert; "your crimes are
discovered. A policeman is stationed at the corner of the court.
Though only a private detective myself, I will take the
responsibility of telling you that anything you say--"

"Mad," repeated Northover, with a weary air.

And at this moment, for the first time, there struck in among them
the strange, sleepy voice of Basil Grant.

"Major Brown," he said, "may I ask you a question?"

The Major turned his head with an increased bewilderment.

"You?" he cried; "certainly, Mr Grant."