Get up--or I'll call in a sure-enough cop to search your title to
that uniform."
Hastily P. Sybarite withdrew his head and rose. An embarrassed glance
askance comforted him measurably: the lady had thrown an exquisite
negligee over her nightdress and had thrust her pretty feet into
extravagantly pretty silken mules.
"Now," said she tersely, "we'll comb the premises for this burglar of
yours: and if we don't find him"--her lips tightened, her brows
clouded ominously--"I promise you an interesting time of it!"
"I'm vastly diverted as it is--truly I am!" protested P. Sybarite,
ruefully eyeing the lady's pistol. "But there 's really no need to
disturb yourself: I'm quite competent to take care of any
housebreaker--"
"That," she broke in, "is something you'll have to show me.... Where's
your nightstick?"
"My--er--what?"
"Your nightstick. What've you done with it?"
With consternation P. Sybarite investigated the vacant loop at his
side.
"Must've dropped out while I was shinning over the back fence," he
surmised vaguely. "However, I shan't need it. This"--with a bright and
confident smile displaying Penfield's revolver--"will do just as
well--better, in fact."
"That?" she questioned. "That's not a Police Department gun. Where'd
you--"
"Oh, yes, it is. It's the new pattern--recently adopted. They've just
begun to issue 'em. I got mine to-day--"
The lady's lips curled.
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