WILLIS: 'Bemis!' After a moment for tasting the fact. 'Why, so it
was! Oh, Lord! oh, Lord! And was poor old Bemis that burly
ruffian? that bloodthirsty gang of giants? that--that--oh, Lord! oh,
Lord!' He bows his head upon his chair-back in complete exhaustion,
demanding, feebly, as he gets breath for the successive questions,
'What are you going to d-o-o-o? What shall you s-a-a-a-y? How can
you expla-a-ain it?'

ROBERTS: 'I can do nothing. I can say nothing. I can never
explain it. I must go to Mr. Bemis and make a clean breast of it;
but think of the absurdity--the ridicule!'

WILLIS, after a thoughtful silence: 'Oh, it isn't THAT you've got
to think of. You've got to think of the old gentleman's sense of
injury and outrage. Didn't you hear what he said--that he would
have handed over his dearest friend, his own brother, to the
police?'

ROBERTS: 'But that was in the supposition that his dearest friend,
his own brother, had intentionally robbed him. You can't imagine,
Willis--'

WILLIS: 'Oh, I can imagine a great many things. It's all well
enough for you to say that the robbery was a mistake; but it was a
genuine case of garotting as far as the assault and taking the watch
go. He's a very pudgicky old gentleman.'

ROBERTS: 'He is.'