“You must get his betting book from his pocket,” Sir Richard directed. “Then you must help Merries downstairs with him, and into the car. Merries is—to get rid of him.”
Merries shivered. His hand, too, went out for the brandy.
“To get rid of him,” he muttered. “It sounds easy!”
“It is easy,” Sir Richard declared. “You have only to keep your nerve, and the thing is done. No one will see him inside the car, in that motoring coat and glasses. You can drive somewhere out into the country and leave him.”
“Leave him!” Merries repeated, trembling. “Leave him—yes!”
Neither of the two men moved.
“I must do more than my share, I suppose,” Sir Richard declared contemptuously. “Come!”
They dragged the man’s body on to a chair, wrapped a huge coat around him, tied a motoring cap under his chin, fixed goggles over his eyes. Sir Richard strolled into the hall and opened the front door. He stood there for a moment, looking up and down the street. When he gave the signal they dragged him out, supported between them, across the pavement, into the car. Ugh! His attitude was so natural as to be absolutely ghastly. Merries started the car and sprang into the driver’s seat. There were people in the Square now, but the figure reclining in the dark, cushioned interior looked perfectly natural.
“So long, Jimmy,” Sir Richard called out. “See you this evening.”
“Right O!” Merries replied, with a brave effort.