"Mr. Nachmann gave us them. He threw them out of Nickelsen's window," cried the youngsters in chorus.
"H'm," grunted Old Nick. "Very funny...." and he stalked on his way.
Nachmann and Prois were busy moving the sofas back against the wall, and restoring the card-table to its former place.
"Here, what do you think you're doing?" shouted Nickelsen from the doorway.
"Salvage Corps, getting ready for a little party," said the Warden dryly.
That evening Old Nick's little circle of friends assembled at his house. Cards and the tray of glasses were laid out as in the old days. The host, in his old brown dressing-gown, sat with his slippered feet up on the table, and puffed at his long-stemmed pipe.
"Well, you may think yourself lucky to have got out of that as you did," said Nachmann, touching Old Nick's glass with his own.
"I can't think what made her go off like that, all of a sudden," said Old Nick, almost wistfully.
"You can thank Peter Oiland for that," said Thor Smith.
"Peter Oiland?"