The Inspector.
No, strangely enough—not as yet. He comes here only once a year—on his way up to his hunting-grounds.—Excuse me for the moment
[Makes a movement to go into the hotel.
Ulfheim's Voice.
[Heard outside.] Stop a moment, man! Devil take it all, can't you stop? Why do you always scuttle away from me?
The Inspector.
[Stops.] I am not scuttling at all, Mr. Ulfheim.
[Ulfheim enters from the left followed by a servant with a couple of sporting dogs in leash. Ulfheim is in shooting costume, with high boots and a felt hat with a feather in it. He is a long, lank, sinewy personage, with matted hair and beard, and a loud voice. His appearance gives no precise clue to his age, but he is no longer young.]
Ulfheim.
[Pounces upon the Inspector.] Is this a way to receive strangers, hey? You scamper away with your tail between your legs—as if you had the devil at your heels.
The Inspector.
[Calmly, without answering him.] Has Mr. Ulfheim arrived by the steamer?
