"Oh, if we don't, they might find us."
Anthony laughed—a give-away, English-sounding laugh. But Monny did not recognize its birthplace. Her own laugh interrupted it too soon, ringing out so happily, it probably surprised herself.
"If they find us here!" quavered Biddy, clinging to me.
"They can't, if only you'll let me hold you tight enough," I whispered. "If they look in, they'll just take us for a black spot in the dark!"
But they didn't look in. They went downstairs. And then was the time to get in the rest of my deadly work with Biddy. We must wait a few minutes, or they couldn't help knowing we'd been near them: and I made the best use of those few minutes. Biddy wouldn't promise anything, but said that she would think it over, and let me know the result of her thinking in a day or two.
To our great surprise, on arriving in open air at the level of the roof below, we saw that the sun was gone, and a slim young moon was sliding down the rose-red trail. It is indeed wonderful, say prophets of the obvious, how quickly time passes when your attention is engaged! And one comfort of being obvious is, that you are generally right.
We tried to flit forth from the dark recess of the pylon stairway without being seen or heard; but as luck would have it, Monny and Fenton had had just time to discover that our boat was gone. The girl was hunting for us, to see if we were "anywhere," or if in some mad freak we could have gone off and left them to their fate. As we sneaked guiltily out, she caught us.
"Biddy! Lord Ernest!" she exclaimed. "Why—why—you have been upstairs!"
A good rule for diplomats, duffers, and others, is never to tell a falsehood when there is no hope that any one will believe it.
"We—er—yes," we both mumbled.