‘Goods as per instructions,’ he said brightly, as he scrambled out of the cupboard. ‘Sign along the dotted line please.’
As soon as they were all in the room, however, he shut the cupboard door carefully, betraying that he was especially anxious that no sound should percolate through into the little box-room they had just left.
Chris Kennedy was the first to speak. He was a little flushed, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about him that showed that his wounded arm no longer damped his spirits.
‘Now we’re all here,’ he said, ‘we can get right down to this thing and work out a scheme to get us out of here and those customers what they deserve. I’m for a fight.’
‘Here, I say, hold on a minute, my son,’ drawled Martin Watt, ‘let’s all start fair. What have you two lost souls been up to, first of all?’ he went on, turning to Meggie and Abbershaw. ‘How did our little Albert get hold of you? No bickering, I hope?’
‘No, all done by kindness,’ said Mr Campion cheerfully; ‘there was only one dragon in my path, a female of the species, and full of good words. Most of them new to me,’ he added thoughtfully. The portion of Abbershaw’s story which the little doctor felt inclined to tell did not take very long. The others also had had their adventures; Martin Watt seemed to have instituted himself spokesman, and as soon as the other had finished he began.
‘We’ve had sport, too, in our own way. Old Dachshund Dawlish has had us up one at a time, you know, heard our catechism and our family history, searched our pockets and let us go again. He has also locked us all up in the central big hall and had another go at our rooms. Old Prenderby tried to square a servant and got the business end of a gun in his tummy by way of retort. The girls have been overhauled by a ghastly old housekeeper woman and a loony maid. And last but not least, we had a confidential lecture from Gideon, who gave us the jolliest little character-sketch of his pal that one can imagine.’
He paused, and a faint smile at the recollection passed over his indolent face.
‘According to him, the old boy is a cross between Mr Hyde, Gilles de Rais, and Napoleon, but without the finesse of any of the three. On the whole I’m inclined to agree with him,’ he continued, ‘but a fat lot of good it’s doing him or us, for that matter, because he can’t find his package and we can’t get home to our mommas. I told him that, but he didn’t seem to see the argument. I’m afraid he’s rather a stupid man.’
Abbershaw nodded.