The Green Bungalow by Fred M. White

Shute burst into a torrent of curses, so loud and deep as to bring a look of something like pain to Blythe's features. Not that he was feeling any sort of resentment, because this display of temper was precisely what he wanted. Shute, cool and calculating, was a proposition to be tackled, but Shute in this passionate mood would be something like clay in the hands of the potter, where a cool diplomatist like Blythe was concerned.

"What the devil do you want here?" Shute said, catching his breath. "Why do you come butting into my affairs? I should have thought a man at the top of his profession, as you are, would have scorned to help himself to the property of a----"