"H'sh!" she whispered.
An eager but stifled "H'st!" came from the cup-board, and Miss Pilbeam,
her fears allayed, stepped softly into the room.
"He's downstairs brushing the mud off," she said, in a low voice.
"Who is?" said the skipper.
"The fat policeman," said the girl, in a hard voice, as she remembered
her father's wrongs.
"What's he doing it here for?" demanded the astonished skipper.
"Because he lives here."
"Lodger?" queried the skipper, more astonished than before.
"Father," said Miss Pilbeam.
A horrified groan from the cupboard fell like music on her ears. Then
the smile forsook her lips, and she stood quivering with indignation as
the groan gave way to suppressed but unmistakable laughter.
"H'sh!" she said sharply, and with head erect sailed out of the room and
went downstairs to give Mr. Pilbeam his breakfast.
To the skipper in the confined space and darkness of the cupboard the
breakfast seemed unending. The sergeant evidently believed in sitting
over his meals, and his deep, rumbling voice, punctuated by good-natured
laughter, was plainly audible.
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