"It's all right, Spike. Keep calm. I can explain. Mr. McEachern owns
the house."

"On your way, Mr. Chames! What's dat?"

"This is his house we're in, now. He left the force three years ago,
came over here, and bought this place. And here we are again, all
gathered together under the same roof, like a jolly little family
party."

Spike's open mouth bore witness to his amazement.

"Den all dis----"

"Belongs to him? That's it. We are his guests, Spike."

"But what's he goin' to do?"

"I couldn't say. I'm expecting to hear shortly. But we needn't worry
ourselves. The next move's with him. If he wants to say anything about
it, he must come to me."

"Sure. It's up to him," agreed Spike.

"I'm quite comfortable. Speaking for myself, I'm having a good time.
How are you getting on downstairs?"

"De limit, Mr. Chames. Honest, I'm on pink velvet. Dey's an old
gazebo, de butler, Keggs his name is, dat's de best ever at handing
out long woids. I sit and listen. Dey calls me Mr. Mullins down dere,"