And then while we—that is, Jenkins and I—were trying to urge him on, out came the note-book again and he scribbled rapidly, muttering audibly: "Labial osculation—extraordinary stimulation—sensatory ganglia—mucous membrane—"
"Police!" I whispered brutally in the frump's ear. "Better let's get him away!" And, by Jove, that woke her out of her trance! In two minutes she had cajoled him to the car and we had him inside on the cushions. We bunched blankets and rugs about him to hide the pajamas.
"Jacky, dear," gushed the Chinese freak, "wouldn't you like for me to sit by you and hold your poor hand?"
It looked as if he would.
The frump turned to me. "Can you drive the car, Mr. Lightnut?"
Could I? Well, I would show her! Especially as Frances had changed to the front as she saw us bringing out Billings.
"Take the train—get Billings' things from the club," I called to Jenkins. "Sharp, now! And here, unhook that number there on the back—give it here!"
Jenkins hesitated. "I think there's a heavy fine, sir," he hinted.
I snapped my fingers at him and he jumped to obey.
"Worse things than a jolly fine," I said, looking at poor Billings smiling crazily over the frump. I threw the number plate into the car.