“She’s really not a bad sort,” said Lalage, “when you get to know her. She did us very little harm on the steamer. She was sick the whole way out, so we just put her in the top berth of our cabin and left her there.”
“Is she there still?”
Hilda giggled. Lalage looked slightly annoyed.
“Of course not,” she said. “We aren’t cruel. We hauled her out this morning and dressed her. It was rather a job but we did it. We took her ashore with us—each holding one arm, for she was frightfully staggery at first—and made her smuggle our cigarettes for us through the custom-house. No one would suspect her of having cigarettes. By the way, she has them still. They’re in a large pocket which I sewed on the inside of her petticoat. She’s over there in the crowd. Would you very much mind getting——?”
“I couldn’t possibly,” I said hastily. “She’d be almost certain to object, especially with all those people standing round. You must wait till you get to an hotel and then undress her again yourselves.”
“Don’t be an ass,” said Lalage. “I don’t want you to get the cigarettes. I want you to rescue Pussy herself. It wouldn’t be at all fair to allow her to be swept away in that crowd. We’d never see her again.”
I did not much care for undertaking this task either, though it was certainly easier than the other. The polyglot guide would, I felt sure, deeply resent the rape of another of his charges.
“Couldn’t Hilda do that?” I said. “After all, she’s a member of the committee. I’m not. And you told me distinctly that ordinary members were not expected to do anything except subscribe.”
“Go on, Hilda,” said Lalage.
I suppose Lalage must be president of the A.T.R.S. and be possessed of autocratic powers. Hilda crossed the road without a murmur. Selby-Harrison, I have no doubt, would have acted in the same way if he had been here.