"Two hundred? Two hundred? Do I hear…"
"Oh, my God!" breathed Martin Drake.
That was where he saw what was approaching, on stealthy and evilly large feet, the unconscious back of Lady Brayle.
The only other person who noticed was the timid little man with the white moustache, who had observed all these proceedings in silence. But the little man did not cover, ground like Martin. Silently, in loping strides, he reached the side of the avenger; firmly he gripped the other side of the shaft, and looked at H.M. across it
H.M.'s almost invisible eyebrows went up.
"I dunno what you're talkin' about" he said in a hollow voice — though Martin, in fact had not uttered a word. He uttered one now.
"No," he said.
"Hey?"
“No."
H.M. altered his tactics.