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 Prokop swung round, furious. “Take your hands away, man, or”

“Excuse me,” said the gentleman and gently passed his arms round his waist. Before Prokop had time to fell him to the ground he had loosened his waistcoat strap, had stepped back and was regarding Prokop’s waist with his head on one side. “So,” he said, completely satisfied and bowed deeply. “I beg to take leave of you.”

“Go to the devil,” cried Prokop after him, and “It won’t be to-morrow now,” he said to himself, after which he began to pace from one corner of the room to the other. “Holy smoke, do these people imagine that I am going to stay here for six months?”

Then there was a knock at the door and Mr. Carson entered with a completely innocent face. Prokop, his hands behind his back, stopped him and measured him with melancholy eyes. “Who are you, man?” he said sharply.

Mr. Carson did not even blink, crossed his hands on his chest and bowed like a Turk.

“Prince Aladdin,” he said, “I am a djin, your slave. Instruct me and I will carry out your every wish. You’ve been to bye-byes? Well, your Excellence, how do you like it here?”

“Enormously,” said Prokop bitterly. “I should only like to know whether I’m a prisoner here, and if so, by what right.”

“A prisoner?” said Mr. Carson, astounded. “Good heavens, surely nobody’s been preventing your going into the park?”

“No, but going out of the park.”