The brothers were thoughtful.
"I suppose we'll have to take her word for it," Cecil said. "Anyway, he's not much good to us up there."
"I suppose so," Gerald agreed, "but personally I think he's just the flighty type."
Cecil went to the door of the elevator and looked out. Then he stepped outside and called back to Gerald to come and give him a hand.
Absentmindedly, Gerald started to hand his gun to Toffee, but at the last moment he thought better of it and put it in his pocket.
"It's hard to tell who's captured whom sometimes," he said sadly, and went outside.
In a moment the brothers were back, progressing slowly under the weight of a tremendous sand-filled cigarette urn. They shuffled to the center of the car and laboriously hoisted their cumbersome burden up to Marc.
"Here," Gerald panted. "Take it."
Marc regarded the thing without enthusiasm. "Good grief!" he said. "That thing'll break my back. Can't you just get me something to eat?"
"Take it," Toffee said shortly. "You can come and get your own food. And don't drop it. Personally, I don't intend to go galloping up to the top of this hotel again after you. Next time you take off, I'll just forward your mail to the moon and let it go at that."