So overwhelming was the joy of these tidings that John found himself regarding Chimp almost with liking. His car was safe after all. His Arab Steed! His Widgeon Seven!
Any further conversation after this stupendous announcement would, he felt, be an anti-climax. Without a word he darted to the door and passed through, leaving the two partners staring after him blankly.
"Well, what do you know about that?" said Chimp.
Mr. Molloy's comment on the situation remained unspoken, for even as his lips parted for the utterance of what would no doubt have been a telling and significant speech, there came from the corridor outside a single, thunderous "Oo-er!" followed immediately by a sharp, smacking sound, and then a noise that resembled the delivery of a ton of coals.
Mr. Molloy stared at Chimp. Chimp stared at Mr. Molloy.
"Gosh!" said Chimp, awed.
"Gosh!" said Mr. Molloy.
"That was Flannery!" said Chimp, unnecessarily.
"'Was,'" said Mr. Molloy, "is right."
It was not immediately that either found himself disposed to leave the room and institute inquiries—or more probably, judging from that titanic crash, a post-mortem. When eventually they brought themselves to the deed and crept palely to the head of the stairs they were enabled to see, resting on the floor below, something which from its groans appeared at any rate for the moment to be alive. Then this object unscrambled itself and, rising, revealed the features of Sergeant-Major Flannery.