"I hate spirits," he objected feebly. "That's his stuff—Mut-mut's."
"You'll hate it worse soon," was all the answer he got; and drank, gasping between gulps.
Knowing that the man had not a kick left in him, Dick ventured, rather than fetch Amaryllis into sight of the uncovered corpse, to mount the front seat and drive the car to the place where she sat waiting.
When she was beside him, he asked if she were fit to drive.
"Yes," she answered. "But I nearly went to sleep waiting for you, Dick."
"I don't think either of us is fit to drive her to town," he said, looking at his watch. "I'm pretty tough, but I'm nearly all in. How you've stuck it as you have, I can't understand. So we'll have a shot at that five-fifteen. We've about seven miles to go. Thirty m.p.h.—that's fourteen minutes. Bar hold-ups, that's good enough. It's just five to five now, but I must fix up my passenger."
Amaryllis looked round at Melchard.
"What are you going to do with him?" she asked, turning back upon Dick a face of disgust.
"Take him up to town," said Dick.
"How beastly!" said Amaryllis.