This brought Lawrence back to himself. He knew that Edestone meant every word he said and, jumping to his feet, he threw his arms around his friend’s neck.
“Bo!” he exclaimed, half-laughing, half-sobbing, “you are a king among men!” little dreaming of the amount of truth there was in what he said.
A moment later he dropped back into the vernacular, where he was more at home.
“You are the best sport I ever knew,” he said, “and I am nothing but a rotten squealer! Forgive me, and I will try to be good. But, Bo! that did hurt!” The tears came to his eyes once more. “He was such a nervy little chap!”
By this time they had gotten to the roof, where they found Black, Stanton, and James eagerly awaiting them.
“Where is Fred?” asked Black, noting his absence as the other two stepped out to join them.
“Dead by God!” Lawrence started again to become hysterical. “That devil, Count von Hemelstein, killed him!”
“Shut up, Lawrence!” broke in Edestone sharply. “Cut out that swearing and get to work. We have no time to lose.”
In the same quick, authoritative tone, he issued his orders to the others, as they stood staring at the news, each in his different way showing his breeding. Black was commencing to whine; Stanton with a scowl of rage was in sympathy with Lawrence; while James, demonstrating his years of training, stood statue-like with hand behind his back, leaning forward as if to catch his master’s next order, and carry it out with perfect decorum.
“Have you locked the door at the foot of the stairs? Ah! That is good!” he exclaimed, as he saw that they had barricaded the door of the bulkhead by putting a piece of timber between it and the coping around one of the skylights.