Their rolling waddle when seen at a certain angle, their abrupt clockwork nodding in a sea-way, so unlike the soaring lift and swing of a craft under sail, have in them something caricatural, a suggestion of a low parody directed at noble predecessors by an improved generation of dull, mechanical toilers, conceited and without grace.

With a caricatural gesture of disdain, and an off-handed air, this corpulent personage demanded stridently: "Who are these gentlemen?" Inspector Michel looked the outrageous creature up and down. "Who are you, Madame?... What are you doing here?" The inspector's tone was severity itself. Juve, behind his window-curtains, breathed a sigh of relief. "Ah, Michel has it in hand! That's all right!"