Billy looked at Psmith.
"Well?" he said. "What shall we do? Go down and try and rush through?"
Psmith shook his head.
"Not so, Comrade Windsor, but about as much otherwise as you can jolly well imagine."
"Well, what then?"
"We will stay here. Or rather we will hop nimbly up on to the roof through that skylight. Once there, we may engage these varlets on fairly equal terms. They can only get through one at a time. And while they are doing it I will give my celebrated imitation of Horatius. We had better be moving. Our luggage, fortunately, is small. Merely Comrade Gooch. If you will get through the skylight, I will pass him up to you."
Mr. Gooch, with much verbal embroidery, stated that he would not go. Psmith acted promptly. Gripping the struggling rent collector round the waist, and ignoring his frantic kicks as mere errors in taste, he lifted him to the trap-door, whence the head, shoulders and arms of Billy Windsor protruded into the room. Billy collected the collector, and then Psmith turned to Pugsy.
"Comrade Maloney."
"Huh?"
"Have I your ear?"