A girl in blue with a big hat had come up, and was standing staring open-mouthed at the group. At the sight of her Bill the parrot uttered a shriek of welcome. Nelly Bryant had returned, and everything would now be all right again.
“Mariner,” said Jill, pale and bright-eyed. “I live at Number Twenty-two, Ovington Square.”
“And yours, sir?”
“Mine? Oh, ah, yes. I see what you mean. Rooke, you know. F. L. Rooke. I live at the Albany and all that sort of thing.”
The policeman made an entry in his note-book. “Officer,” cried Jill, “this man was trying to kill that parrot and I stopped him. …”
“Can’t help that, miss. You ’adn’t no right to hit a man with a stick. You’ll ’ave to come along.”
“But, I say, you know!” Freddie was appalled. This sort of thing had happened to him before, but only on Boat-Race Night at the Empire, where it was expected of a chappie. “I mean to say!”
“And you too, sir. You’re both in it.”
“But …”
“Oh, come along, Freddie,” said Jill quietly. “It’s perfectly absurd, but it’s no use making a fuss.”