“Lord, you don’t suppose we’ll any of us do it dressed like this, do you? We want greatcoats and masks.”
“I’ve got a roquelaure,” said Sir Roland helpfully. “Had it made for me last month by Grogan. Meant to show it to you, Pel. Pretty shade of grey—silver buttons, but I don’t know about the lining. Grogan was all for a Carmelite silk, but I’m not sure I care for it, not at all sure.”
“Well, you can’t hold up a chaise in a silk-lined roquelaure. We’ve got to have frieze coats and mufflers.”
Sir Roland shook his head. “Can’t be done, Pel. You got a frieze coat, Heron?”
“No, thank God, I haven’t!” said Captain Heron.
“Nor have I,” said the Viscount, springing up. “And that’s why we must get hold of that fellow we left at Lethbridge’s. Come along! We’ve no time to waste.”
Sir Roland rose, and said admiringly: “Dashed if I should ever have thought of that. It’s you who have the head, Pel, not a doubt of it.”
“Pelham, do you realize that in all probability it was that ruffian who kidnapped your sister?” demanded Captain Heron.
“Do you think so? Yes, by God, I believe you’re right! Said he was waiting for twenty guineas, didn’t he? Well, if Lethbridge can hire him so can we,” declared the Viscount, and strode out.
Captain Heron caught him up in the street. “Pelham, it’s all very well, but we can’t do a hare-brained thing like that! If we’re caught I’m like to be broke.”