“I’m interested in quite a number of things, Captain Drummond,” said Lakington slowly, “but they all count as nothing beside one—getting even with you. And when I do...” He dropped the revolver into his coat pocket, and stood motionless, staring at the soldier.
“Ah! when!” mocked Drummond. “There have been so many ‘whens,’ Henry dear. Somehow I don’t think you can be very clever. Don’t go—I’m so enjoying my heart-to-heart talk. Besides, I wanted to tell you the story about the girl, the soap, and the bath. That’s to say, if the question of baths isn’t too delicate.”
Lakington paused as he got to the skylight.
“I have a variety of liquids for bathing people in,” he remarked. “The best are those I use when the patient is alive.”
The next instant he opened a door in the skylight which Hugh had failed to discover during the night, and, climbing down a ladder inside the room, disappeared from view.
“Hullo, old bean!” A cheerful shout from the ground made Hugh look down. There, ranged round Peterson, in an effective group, were Peter Darrell, Algy Longworth, and Jerry Seymour. “Birds’-nestin’?”
“Peter, old soul,” cried Hugh joyfully, “I never thought the day would come when I should be pleased to see your face, but it has! For Heaven’s sake get a move on with that blinking ladder; I’m getting cramp.”
“Ted and his pal, Hugh, have toddled off in your car,” said Peter, “so that only leaves us four and Toby.”
For a moment Hugh stared at him blankly, while he did some rapid mental arithmetic. He even neglected to descend at once by the ladder which had at last been placed in position. “Ted and us four and Toby” made six—and six was the strength of the party as it had arrived. Adding the pal made seven; so who the deuce was the pal?
The matter was settled just as he reached the ground. Lakington, wild-eyed and almost incoherent, rushed from the house, and, drawing Peterson on one side, spoke rapidly in a whisper.