"I confess it," replied Harley quietly; "and since my time is of
some little value I would suggest, without disrespect, that you
explain the connection, if any, between yourself, the drunken
Bampton, and Mr. De Lana, of the Stock Exchange, who died, you
inform us, at six o'clock this evening as the result, presumably,
of injuries received in an accident."
"That's what I'm here for!" cried Major Ragstaff. "In the first
place, then, I am the party, although I saw to it that my name
was kept out of print, whom the drunken lunatic assaulted."
Harley, pipe in hand, stared at the speaker perplexedly.
"Understand me," continued the Major, "I am the person--I, Jack
Ragstaff--he assaulted. I was walkin' down from my quarters in
Maddox Street on my way to dine at the club, same as I do every
night o' my life, when this flamin' idiot sprang upon me, grabbed
my hat"--he took up his white hat to illustrate what had
occurred--"not this one, but one like it--pitched it on the
ground and jumped on it!"
Harley was quite unable to conceal his smiles as the excited old
soldier dropped his conspicuous head-gear on the floor and
indulged in a vigorous pantomime designed to illustrate his
statement.
"Most extraordinary," said Harley.
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