Peter stood up, peeling off the remains of the adhesive tape.
"I'm getting discouraged," he said. "All these years we've been trying to get rid of you, and every time we think you're nicely settled you come back. Won't you ever learn when to die a hero's death and give somebody else a chance with the heroine?"
"I will when I find someone else who'd have a chance," Simon assured him generously.
He straightened up from releasing Mr Uniatz's ankles and held out the remains of the roll of plaster.
"Make a parcel of Comrade Borieff, will you, Hoppy?" he said. "We don't want him to get restive and hurt himself."
"Okay, boss," said Mr Uniatz willingly. "All I need is just one drink—"
"I'll have mine first," said Peter Quentin, swooping hastily on the bottle, "or else there mightn't be enough to go round."
Simon took the glass away from him as he filled it, and strolled over to the girl.
"Was that date in London very important?" he said. "Or will you come along with us and make it a party?"
She shook her head.