“I don't want any more mysteries,” Tavernake protested. “I'd rather go home.”
“It can't be done,” Pritchard declared, taking his arm once more. “You've got to see me through this. Come up to my rooms for a minute.”
They entered the Court and ascended to the eighth floor. Pritchard turned on the lights in his room, a plainly furnished and somewhat bare apartment. From a cupboard he took out a pair of rubber-soled shoes and threw them to Tavernake.
“Put those on,” he directed.
“What are we going to do?” Tavernake asked.
“You are going to help me,” Pritchard answered. “Take my word for it, Tavernake, it's all right. I could tackle the job alone, but I'd rather not. Now drink this whiskey and soda and light a cigarette. I shall be ready in five minutes.”
“But where are we going?” Tavernake demanded.
“You are going,” Pritchard replied, “on an errand of chivalry. You are going to become once more a rescuer of woman in distress. You are going to save the life of your beautiful friend Elizabeth.”