Suppose you and Peters go back upstairs. You can leave Tidman, though."

"You--you're sure it is safe?" asks Waldo.

"Look at that grip of Mrs. Flynn's," says I.

After one skittish glance, Waldo does a quick exit. At that, though,
Peters beat him to it.

"Tidman," says I, when they're gone, "we'll step out towards the back a
ways and consult. Hold him a minute longer, Mrs. Flynn."

"I--I don't see why I should be dragged into this," whines Tidman, as I
leads him towards the rear.

"Never mind," says I. "We're goin' to clear this all up right away.
Now, who is he, Tidman? Black-sheep brother, or what?"

Got a jump out of him, that jab did. But he recovers quick.

"Why, he's no relative at all," says Tidman. "I assure you that I
never saw the--"

"Naughty, naughty!" says I. "Didn't I spot that peaked beak of his,
just like yours? That's a fam'ly nose, that is."

"Cousin," admits Tidman, turnin' sulky.

"And sort of a blot on the escutcheon?" I goes on.