and the accursed bother it was to keep the snow from damping my pasteboard nose.”
“At the end,” said Kemp, “the day before yesterday, when they found you out, you rather—to judge by the papers—”
“I did. Rather. Did I kill that fool of a constable?”
“No,” said Kemp. “He’s expected to recover.”
“That’s his luck, then. I clean lost my temper, the fools! Why couldn’t they leave me alone? And that grocer lout?”
“There are no deaths expected,” said Kemp.
“I don’t know about that tramp of mine,” said the invisible man, with an unpleasant laugh.
“By heaven, Kemp, you don’t know what rage is ! … To have worked for years, to have planned and plotted, and then to get some fumbling purblind idiot messing across your course! … Every conceivable sort of silly creature that has ever been created has been sent to cross me.