For the first time I looked at myself, and burst out laughing at the spectacle I presented. My pajamas were torn to shreds, and I was smutted from head to foot with soot and ashes. Hugh and Nikka were little better. Watkins was as immaculate as a man in his night-shirt may be.
"Very well," said Hugh. "Then Jack had best go upstairs and wash, while Watkins gets dressed and fetches our clothes. In the meantime, Nikka and I can be disposing of our friend here."
We adopted this plan, and Watkins also volunteered to tell cook to start breakfast. The curtains had been close drawn over all the Gunroom windows, and I was amazed to perceive on leaving it that the sun was rising.
When I came downstairs twenty minutes later, Hawkins the butler, carrying a large tray, was knocking on the Gunroom door.
"I'll take it," I told him. "You go back to the kitchen like a good fellow, and keep the maids quiet."
I knocked for several minutes without result, and finally set the tray down, and banged the door with both fists.
"All right! All right!" called a strangely blanketed voice. "Who is it?"
"Jack!"
Feet scuffled inside, and the door was jerked open by Hugh, rather dusty and cobwebby.
"We were out under the Park," he explained. "We took that Gypsy down safely, and I came back ahead of the others on the chance you might be trying to get in. There's a regular passage, Jack. It seems to go on and on. We didn't have time to follow it very far."