We had a little music, in a charming room built for the purpose. Juanita played upon the guitar and sang little Spanish love songs. Bill "obliged" with a ditty which he said was a favorite of the revered Charles Lamb, which seemed to consist entirely of the following lines:
"Diddle-diddle-dumpling, my son John
Went to bed with his breeches on."
I think that when Juanita said good-night to us all—and to me privately in the passage—she went to bed quite happy and cheerful.
About half-past ten Bill slipped off and I remained to smoke a final cigar with Morse.
"I'm low, Thomas," he said, "I'm very low to-night."
I made him take a little whisky and potash—a thing he rarely did.
"It's the unnatural life, sir, that you've condemned yourself to recently. You come out of this and hunt with me in Gloucestershire and I'll protect you as well as you're protected here, and you'll get as right as rain."
"You're very kind," he replied, "but—take care of her, Kirby, for God's sake, take care of her. She'll have no one else in the world but you if they get me or Pu-Yi."
I was about to expostulate again when the door opened and Boss Mulligan slouched in.
"Been all round the City, governor, with the usual patrol. Everything quiet, nothing unusual anywhere. All the servants have given in their tallies and are safe in their quarters."