The Club of Queer Trades
"He's a thingummy-bob, a house-agent, say. I'm going to see him."
"Oh, you're going to see a house-agent, are you?" said Rupert Grant, grimly. "Do you know, Mr. Keith, I think I should very much like to go with you?"
Basil shook with his soundless laughter. Lieutenant Keith started a little; his brow blackened sharply.
"I beg your pardon, he said. "What did you say?"
Rupert's face had been growing from stage to stage of ferocious irony, and he answered:
"I was saying that I wondered whether you would mind our strolling along with you to this house-agent's."
The visitor swung his stick with a sudden, whirling violence.
"Oh, in God's name, come to my house-agent's! Come to my bedroom. Look under my bed. Examine my dust-bin. Come along!" And with a furious energy which took away our breath he banged his way out of the room.
Rupert Grant, his restless blue eyes dan-
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