“Oh, yes,” Mr. Priestley-Mullins replied hastily. “Yes, of course, Miss—er—Spettigue. But I don’t—that is——”
The girl came as near to showing impatience as a creature so demurely angelic could. “It’s half-past nine already,” she said plaintively. “We really must not waste any more time, Mr. Mullins. Isn’t that our waiter over there? Do please call him.” And she fixed Mr. Priestley with a look that should have caused even milder men than he to write fiercely to The Times about the dragon-shortage in these degenerate days, and can’t something be done about it? She also rose to her feet with a decision that left no room for further delay.
Reluctantly, very reluctantly, Mr. Priestley followed suit. Somebody (he never knew who) paid the waiter, and they made their way out into the open air again.
“The car’s in a garage up in Maida Vale,” remarked the girl. “We’d better take the Underground.”
“I think, perhaps a taxi——?” suggested Mr. Priestley, in whose harassed brain a plan was now beginning to form.
The girl looked at him with appealing helplessness. “I do so much prefer the Underground,” she said wistfully. “It’s so much safer.”
They took the Underground.
Now Mr. Priestley was a chivalrous man. Even as his Adventure had turned out, he could not bring himself to slip out of it, as he easily could have done already, without a word of explanation. He had been responsible for this tangled skein; it was equally his responsibility to leave it in a properly tidied condition. Without going so far as to make a clean breast of his own baseness, he yet felt it necessary to explain that this evening at any rate was a close season for burglars. For the rest, any faint feelings of curiosity which he might have entertained regarding the ultimate intentions of this charming but nefarious maiden had now been quite swamped in the urgency of his anxiety not to be mixed up in them. Even to himself Mr. Priestley could not but admit that he would make a remarkably poor burglar.
A taxi would have suited his purpose much better, but he had to do the best he could with the Underground. Fortunately, there were only one or two people in the carriage, and Mr. Priestley was able to deliver himself with no fear of being overheard. “Miss Spettigue,” he began, in the low, firm voice of the Man who will Stand No Nonsense. “Miss Spettigue, I fear I have some unpleasant news for you.”
The lady curved a small hand round an invisible ear. “Did you say anything?” she inquired at the top of her voice.