CHAPTER XXIII
An Error in Taste
‘What shall I shout to him?’ said Martin nervously, as the solitary horseman came cantering across the turf towards the house. ‘I can’t blab out the whole story.’
‘Yell, “We’re prisoners,” ’ suggested Kennedy, ‘and, “Get us out for the love of Mike.” ’
‘It’s a young chap,’ murmured Martin. ‘Sits his horse well. Must be a decent cove. Here goes.’
He thrust his head as far out of the window as the bars would permit, and his clear young voice echoed out across the grass.
‘Hello! Hello! Hell-o! Up here – top window! Up here! I say, we’re prisoners. A loony in charge is going to burn the house down. For God’s sake give the alarm and get us out.’
There was a period of silence, and then Martin spoke over his shoulder to the others:
‘He can’t hear. He’s coming closer. He seems to be a bit of an ass.’
‘For heaven’s sake get him to understand,’ said Wyatt. ‘Everything depends on him.’
Martin nodded, and strained out of the window again.