"Oh, everything. Didn't we do it well? I mean, the way we kept Pongo and Terence O'Rourke in play."
"I congratulate you on the handling of Pongo. O'Rourke was probably a sitter—but Pongo is made of other stuff. There's only one word for that lad—it was in the Sunday Newsbag cross-word last week. Word of ten letters meaning everywhere at once. Ubiquitous. That describes Pongo down to the ground. You can't go anywhere without running into him—and the worst of it is you never hear him coming."
"You think he's dangerous?"
"Dangerous? Of course he's not dangerous. Fancy Pongo being dangerous. He's an ass. But, as I said just now, he's an ubiquitous ass. He doesn't even seem to need sleep like ordinary mortals. In fact, to put it bluntly, the fellow's a damned nuisance."
And, in a somewhat aggrieved manner, Jimmy described the events of the previous evening.
Bundle was not very sympathetic.
"I don't know what you think you're doing anyway, mouching round here."
"No. 7," said Jimmy crisply. "That's what I'm after. No. 7."
"And you think you'll find him in this house?"
"I thought I might find a clue."