“But this is farcical,” Smithers expostulated.
“Not at all,” said Carpentaria sweetly. “Do you imagine that because you have an inordinate amount of cheek, a family and two penniless aunts, we are going to break the habits of a life-time? For myself, I have never been interviewed.”
“Is this your last word?” the journalist demanded.
“It is,” said Carpentaria.
“Very well,” said the journalist, and his head disappeared.
“Let us descend,” said Ilam, savagely pleased. And he waved the descent flag.
“We shan’t descend just yet,” the journalist informed them, popping up his head again.
“And pray, why not?”
“Because I’ve cut the rope.”
Carpentaria, always calm when art was not concerned, tore a fragment of paper from an envelope in his pocket and threw it out of the car. It sank away rapidly from the balloon. Moreover, it was evident, even to the eye, that their distance from the earth was vastly increasing.