"If you've got anything in your mouth, spit it out. I can't make out
half what you say. Sounds like 'ollo--ollo--ollo'!"

The thief opened his mouth and with his tongue instituted a visible
search for the obstruction that appeared to annoy Mr. Yollop.

"They're all here except the one I had pulled last year," he
announced vastly relieved. A sharp spasm of pain in his jaw caused
him to abruptly take advantage of a recent discovery; and while he
was careful to couch his opinions in an undertone, he told Mr.
Yollop what he thought of him in terms that would have put the
hardiest pirate to blush. Something in Mr. Yollop's eye, however,
and the fidgety way in which he was fingering the trigger of the
pistol, moved him to interrupt a particularly satisfying paean of
blasphemy by breaking off short in the very middle of it to wonder
why in God's name he hadn't had sense enough to remember that all
deaf people are lip-readers.

"Spit it out!" repeated Mr. Yollop, with energy. "Don't talk with
your mouth full. I can't understand a word you say."

This was reassuring but not convincing. There was still the ominous
glitter in the speaker's eye to be reckoned with. The man on the
floor took the precaution to explain: "I hope "you didn't hear what
I was callin' myself." He spoke loudly and very distinctly.

"That's better," said Mr. Yollop, his face brightening. "I was
'afraid my hearing had got worse without my knowing it. All you have
to do is to enunciate distinctly and speak slowly like that,--as if