“No,” said Hugh. “What’s happened?”
“That man Peterson and the girl have got away. No trace of ’em.” Then he looked at Drummond curiously. “By the way, you had something to do with that show, didn’t you?”
“A little,” smiled Hugh. “Just a little.”
“Police bound to catch ’em again,” continued the other. “Can’t hide yourself these days.”
And once again Hugh smiled, as he drew from his pocket the piece of paper:
“Only au revoir, my friend; only au revoir.”
He glanced at the words written in Peterson’s neat writing, and the smile broadened. Assuredly life was still good; assuredly....
“Are you ready for dinner, darling?” Quickly he swung round, and looked at the sweet face of his wife.
“Sure thing, kid,” he grinned. “Dead sure; I’ve had the best appetiser the old pot-house can produce.”
“Well, you’re very greedy. Where’s mine?”