‘My dear fellow . . .’ Wyatt started forward. ‘I think you’ll find all you want here,’ he said, and led the way to a cupboard set in the panelling of the fire-place. Kennedy stuck his head in it, and came out flushed and triumphant. ‘Two Scotch and a “Three Star” Brandy,’ he said, tucking the bottles under his arm. ‘It’s blasphemy, but there’s no other way. Get to the window, chicks, and Uncle Christopher will now produce the rabbit.’
‘What are you going to do with that stuff?’ said Watt, who was not an admirer of the athletic type. ‘Fill yourself up with it and run amok?’
Kennedy grinned at him over his shoulder; he was already half out of the room.
‘No fear!’ he said, pausing with his hand on the door-handle. ‘But the Salmson is. Watch the garage. Keep your eyes upon the performance, ladies and gentlemen. This trick cannot be repeated.’
The somewhat bewildered little group regarded him doubtfully.
‘I’m afraid I don’t follow you even now,’ said Martin, still coldly. ‘I’m probably infernally thick, but I don’t get your drift.’
Michael Prenderby suddenly lifted his head.
‘Good Lord!’ he said. ‘I do believe you might do it. What a stunt!’
‘That’s what I thought,’ said Kennedy.
He went out, and they heard him racing down the corridor.