The Club of Queer Trades
"Stand still," cried Rupert, authoritatively. "Major Brown's action is excusable. The abominable crime you have attempted—"
"A customer has a perfect right," said Northover, hotly, "to question an alleged overcharge, but, confound it all, not to throw furniture."
"What, in God's name, do you mean by your customers and overcharges?" shrieked Major Brown, whose keen feminine nature, steady in pain or danger, became almost hysterical in the presence of a long and exasperating mystery. "Who are you? I've never seen you or your insolent tomfool bills. I know one of your cursed brutes tried to choke me—"
"Mad," said Northover, gazing blankly round—"all of them mad. I didn't know they travelled in quartets."
"Enough of this prevarication," said Rupert; "your crimes are discovered. A policeman is stationed at the corner of the court. Though only a private detective myself, I will take the responsibility of telling you that anything you say—"
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