“It’s all right,” muttered Algy rapidly. “They’re half-way to London by now, and going like hell if I know Ted.”
It was then that Hugh started to laugh. He laughed till the tears poured down his face, and Peterson’s livid face of fury made him laugh still more.
“Oh you priceless pair!” he sobbed. “Right under your bally noses. Stole away! Yoicks!” There was another interlude for further hilarity. “Give it up, you two old dears, and take to knitting. Miss one and purl three, Henry my boy, and Carl in a nightcap can pick up the stitches you drop.” He took out his cigarette-case. “Well, au revoir. Doubtless we shall meet again quite soon. And, above all, Carl, don’t do anything in Paris which you would be ashamed of my knowing.”
With a friendly wave he turned on his heel and strolled off, followed by the other three. The humour of the situation was irresistible; the absolute powerlessness of the whole assembled gang to lift a finger to stop them in front of the audience, which as yet showed no sign of departing, tickled him to death. In fact, the last thing Hugh saw, before a corner of the house hid them from sight, was the majesty of the law moistening his indelible pencil in the time-honoured method, and advancing on Peterson with his notebook at the ready.
“One brief interlude, my dear old warriors,” announced Hugh, “and then we must get gay. Where’s Toby?”
“Having his breakfast with your girl,” chuckled Algy. “We thought we’d better leave someone on guard, and she seemed to love him best.”
“Repulsive hound!” cried Hugh. “Incidentally, boys, how did you manage to roll up this morning?”
“We all bedded down at your girl’s place last night,” said Peter, “and then this morning, who should come and sing carols outside but our one and only Potts. Then we heard your deafening din on the roof, and blew along.”
“Splendid!” remarked Hugh, rubbing his hands together, “simply splendid! Though I wish you’d been there to help with that damned gorilla.”
“Help with what?” spluttered Jerry Seymour.