might not be a criminal baboon like Edgar Allan Poe's. It might only have come to pay me a visit, and found me at home instead of 'Ghussal Karte.' But of course this was only a chance, and it struck me as being so very ignominious to be killed by a baboon, and I don't think one would look at all nice afterwards. 'Make things as pleasant as you can for other people,' was one of Aunt Agatha's chief maxims. Well, I shouldn't be making it exactly pleasant for Berengaria and John if I went and died a nasty sticky death in their house the very first night. So it behoved me for everybody's sake as well as for my own to outwit that baboon.
Presently the circuit he was making round and round my bed grew wider, until at last he caught sight of himself in the looking glass that stood on the dressing table against the wall. He stopped at once, evidently very much interested. Very cautiously he approached and surveyed himself. He didn't take his presentment for another baboon, as I thought he would—as a dog or a cat generally does. He seemed quite to understand that it was himself he was looking at, and quite anxious about his personal appearance. His movements were all so grotesquely human that I was perfectly fascinated and almost forgot to be afraid any more. He put up his hand and smoothed his hair; he looked at his teeth, and made quaint faces at himself, giving vent to strange gurgling noises like a pleased infant. He seemed to have forgotten all about me.
