When they had all got under cover, away from the lodge, I walked up to the front door. I took a slip of paper out of my notebook and scribbled on it: “ Maybe I can help you out of this. Nick Mason.” I rang the bell and shoved the letter through the box.
I stood there waiting. I waited so long that I thought I wasn’t going to pull it off. Then I thought maybe Kennedy was thinking it was phoney, so I stood away from the lodge so he could see me.
That worked it. He came to the door himself. I expected to find him plenty mad. I knew he’d got a hell of a temper once he got going.
“Come in quick,” he said, holding the door ajar.
I stepped into the hall and he shut and bolted the door behind me.
“Am I glad to see you?” he said, wringing my hand. “Where the blazes have you been all this time?”
I grinned at him. “Suppose we skip that for a moment, Colonel,” I said. “Seems like you’ve got yourself in a bit of a jam.”
“Jam?” He certainly looked worried sick. “I’m sitting on dynamite. Listen, Mason, are you going to help me out again?”
“Sure,” I said. “That’s why I’ve come out here.”
“Come in and have a drink,” he said, leading the way into a long, low room, with a big, empty fireplace at one end. I looked round, admiringly.