"You boys," he said, "may stay here as long as you like. Make yourselves at home, and spend your spare time thinking out the story you're going to tell when the servants come back and find you here."
The replies he received have no place in a highly moral and uplifting story like this.
He went out with Jill, and limped down the drive beside her.
"The water's got into my watch and stopped it," he said, "but we ought to be just about on time."
They were on time. As they reached the lodge gates the lights of a car came up the road.
Jill Trelawney had sent the chauffeur off to buy a bottle of brandy in a neighbouring village; and the probable time he would take on the errand — with necessary refreshment for himself en route — had been carefully calculated.
"And that bottle," said the Saint, "may easily turn out to be one of the greatest inspirations either of us has ever had — if you feel anything like as cold as I do."
In the darkness, their drenched and draggled condition could escape notice. They climbed into the car, and Simon took delivery of the Courvoisier and directed the chauffeur.
"And so — the tumult and the shouting dies, the sinners and the Saints depart."
The cork of the bottle popped under his expert manipulation, and the luxurious fittings of the car provided glasses. The liquor gurgled out in the dimness.