“I just can’t bear to be parted from Henry for one moment longer than necessary,” said Hugh quietly. “And Henry is there, in a praiseworthy endeavour to lift the Duchess’s pearls.... Dear Henry!” His two fists clenched, and the American, looking at his face, laughed softly.
But it was only for a moment that Drummond indulged in the pleasures of anticipation; all that could come after. And just now there were other things to be done—many others, if events next morning were to go as they should.
“Take those two into the centre room,” he cried. “Incidentally there’s a dead Boche on the floor, but he’ll come in very handy in my little scheme.”
“A dead Boche!” The intimidated rabbit gave a frightened squeak. “Good Heavens! you ruffian, this is beyond a joke.”
Hugh looked at him coldly.
“You’ll find it beyond a joke, you miserable little rat,” he said quietly, “if you speak to me like that.” He laughed as the other shrank past him. “Three of you boys in there,” he ordered briskly, “and if either of them gives the slightest trouble clip him over the head. Now let’s have the rest of the crowd in here, Peter.”
They came filing in, and Hugh waved a cheery hand in greeting.
“How goes it, you fellows,” he cried with his infectious grin. “Like a company pow-wow before popping the parapet. What! And it’s a bigger show this time, boys, than any you’ve had over the water.” His face set grimly for a moment; then he grinned again, as he sat down on the foot of the stairs. “Gather round, and listen to me.”
For five minutes he spoke, and his audience nodded delightedly. Apart from their love for Drummond—and three out of every four of them knew him personally—it was a scheme which tickled them to death. And he was careful to tell them just enough of the sinister design of the master-criminal to make them realise the bigness of the issue.
“That’s all clear, then,” said Drummond rising. “Now I’m off. Toby, I want you to come too. We ought to be there by midnight.”