"I hope, Mr. Drake, you haven't forgotten our little talk last night?"
No, he hadn't forgotten it But he could think only of Jenny.
Why, and in what crazy moment, had he insisted on this vigil in the execution shed?
"Because I'm glad to say," Stannard pursued, "that I have been successful. For a night or two at least we are masters of Pentecost Prison."
"Good! Good! Good!"
"Our good friend Ruth has helped us. A friend of hers has been kind enough to invite us all to spend the week-end—" "Yes. I know." "You know?"
This time an edge did get into Martin's voice.
"Mr. Stannard, it's a vitally personal matter; I’ll explain when I see you. I can't stay at Fleet House. But you'll find me at the pub just across the way."
There was a slight pause.
"You'll travel down with us, of course?" inquired Stannard. "Noon train from Paddington to Reading, change for Newbury, then bus for the rest Devilish awkward, being without petrol." "Sony. I'm afraid I've got to take an earlier train."