“What a thoughtful child it is!” they heard her say, in mock admiration. “And did you imagine I hadn’t thought of that long ago? Don’t worry!”
She hurried after her companion. Freddie Stickney, left alone with Douglas and Westenhanger, shuffled for a moment or two and then retired to the door.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, reaching for the handle.
“Right, Freddie,” said Douglas, making a pretence of consulting his watch. “I’ve taken the time. Set your alarm clock every quarter of an hour and jot down that you were in bed each time when you woke up. It’ll be an invaluable memorandum if anything happens to go astray to-night. Bye-bye. If you feel one of your ears burning, don’t fret. It will probably be me saying what I think of your exploits.”
Freddie suppressed a snarl and went out. Westenhanger dropped into a big lounge-chair and pulled out his pipe.
“Sit down, Douglas; it’s early yet.”
Douglas picked out a convenient seat, near enough to allow a low-voiced conversation.
“I asked Cynthia to drop into Eileen’s room and tell her what we thought of things. Couldn’t leave the girl imagining we believed she was a wrong ’un, could we? And she might have thought that, cutting off when she did. Cynthia was going to see her off her own bat, it seems. Sound girl, Cynthia; she’ll do it tactfully. Some people might make a bad break in a case like that.”
Westenhanger acquiesced silently, and filled his pipe before he spoke again.
“Damnable business, that,” he said at last. “And if we’d stopped it, there would have been some sort of scene. Everyone’s nerves were on edge. Anything was better than that. But what actually happened wasn’t so very much better after all. That girl was as near cracking up as she could be. If it hadn’t been for her grit, we might have had a much nastier affair on our hands.”