"I say," he said, when they were alone.
"Hullo," said Silver, finishing his story, and putting down the magazine. "What do you say to going after those chaps? I thought that story was going to be a long one that would take half an hour to get through. But it collapsed. Like that guard-tent."
"About that tent business," said Kennedy. "Of course that was all rot what I was saying just now. I suddenly remembered that I didn't particularly want anybody but you to hear what I was going to say, so I had to invent any rot that I could think of."
"But now," said Jimmy Silver, sinking his voice to a melodramatic whisper, "the villagers have left us to continue their revels on the green, our wicked uncle has gone to London, his sinister retainer, Jasper Murgleshaw, is washing his hands in the scullery sink, and—we are alone!"
"Don't be an ass," pleaded Kennedy.
"Tell me your dreadful tale. Conceal nothing. Spare me not. In fact, say on."
"I've had a talk with the chap who was sentry that night," began Kennedy.
"Astounding revelations by our special correspondent," murmured Silver.
"You might listen."
"I am listening. Why don't you begin? All this hesitation strikes me as suspicious. Get on with your shady story."