“The first thing would be to gag him, wouldn’t it?” Lucilla asked, rising. “Would this do for that?” She pulled the long, heavy silk scarf from her shoulders, and held it out.
“Capital!” Traherne said, taking it and trying its strength. “Capital.” He tied a knot in it strongly, tested it again, and carried it to the couch, and laid it on the end near the wireless-room door. “See?” he asked.
Both nodded.
“What about a billiard cue?” Crespin suggested next.
But Dr. Traherne shook his head. “If he saw it about, he’d smell a rat,” he objected.
“Then,” Major Crespin muttered grimly, “there’s only one thing—”
“What?” Traherne asked him.
Major Crespin pointed to the balcony outside the wide open window. Lucilla was standing near it.
“Oh!” she choked, and shrank away from the open window, trembling violently.
“I’m afraid it can’t be helped,” Traherne told her, saying it not too regretfully, perhaps. And he added approvingly, “There’s a drop of a good hundred feet.”