“But what on earth for? Leave well enough alone, guy.”
“I’ve got to—it’s those handkerchiefs of yours, Bill.”
“The ones we used as blindfolds? By gosh, you’re right.”
“Of course I am. And we were idiots not to remember that all your wipes are initialled! Well, that was a bloomer we both made.”
Bill crawled into bed, and pulled up the sheet.
“Oh, no, we didn’t,” he retorted sleepily.
“How come?”
“Har-har! Had you goin’, didn’t I? Why, I changed the one on the wireless lad—found two in the Baron’s pockets, y’ see. The one you used on him was his own—the other’s on his little roommate!”
“Well, I’m a son-of-a-seacook! That’s a good one. I wonder if the rest of the bunch will figure that ‘they done it all themselves’? Smart work, Bill. You’re as full of ideas as Martinengo’s ship’s biscuit was of weevils!”
“Right the first and last time. Now shut up! I’m asleep.” Bill turned over, his back to the room, and buried his face in his pillow.