"H.M. turned to Ricky. "What about you?"
I didn't see them," retorted Ricky. "I…" He told his story briefly, much as he had told it to Martin and Jenny. "All these years the thing has seemed perfectly simple. Now you've got it so tangled up I don't understand it myself. Field-glasses, for instance."
"Pink flashes," amplified Masters. "Skeletons in clocks. God's truth!"
"I want to know what's wrong with Mother," persisted Ricky. There were lines of strain drawn from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth. The powerful hands and wrists dug into the pockets of his sports-coat "I'm released from a marriage-obligation, or I'd hoped so; but am I released? Then this expedition to the prison tonight…"
"What expedition to the prison?" H.M. asked sharply.
They had all, by instinct, gone to the middle of the roof at its edge. Now, also by instinct, they moved back towards the furniture of darkened chromium and orange canvas.
At the rear of the roof, the staircase-door opened. Martin, somewhat drawn of face but with a gleam in his eyes, walked quickly towards them. Ricky signalled, "What did you find out?" and Martin signalled back, 'Tell you later."
"You—" H.M. pointed his finger at Martin—"were shouting some gibberish about an execution shed, now I remember. What's this game tonight? All of it?"
Martin told him.
"I see," commented H.M., keeping an indecipherable poker-face. "Resistin' the powers of darkness and cryin', 'Ho!' All right You two just nip downstairs, will you. Masters and I have got to have a little causerie. Don't argue, bum it! Hustle!"