You've no right not to believe us till you've found us out in a lie.

We don't tell lies.

You ask Albert's uncle if we do.' 'Hold your tongue,' said the White-Whiskered.

But Noel's blood was up.
'If you do put us in prison without being sure,' he said, trembling more and more, 'you are a horrible tyrant like Caligula, and Herod, or Nero, and the Spanish Inquisition, and I will write a poem about it in prison, and people will curse you for ever.' 'Upon my word,' said White Whiskers.

'We'll see about that,' and he turned up the lane with the fox hanging from one hand and Noel's ear once more reposing in the other.
I thought Noel would cry or faint.