‘He won’t get to it yet awhile,’ said the new-comer grimly. ‘He’s surrounded by a tight hedge composed of the oldest members, and they’re all seeing red – but still, we’ll go down.’
Campion turned to Abbershaw.
‘I think the girls had better come out,’ he said. ‘We don’t want any mistakes at this juncture. Poor old Prenderby too, if we can bring him. The place is as inflammable as gun-cotton. I’ll give you a hand with him.’
They carried the boy downstairs between them.
As Randall had said, the corridors smelt of paraffin and there were enormous faggots of dry kindling wood in advantageous positions all the way down to the hall. Clearly Herr von Faber had intended to leave nothing to chance.
‘What a swine!’ muttered Abbershaw. ‘The man must be crazy, of course.’
Albert Campion caught his eye.
‘I don’t think so, my son,’ he said. ‘In fact I shouldn’t be at all surprised if at this very moment our friend Boche wasn’t proving his sanity pretty conclusively . . . Did it occur to you that his gang of boy friends have been a little conspicuous by their absence this morning?’
Abbershaw halted suddenly and looked at him.
‘What are you driving at?’ he demanded.