Whether Hamilton Beamish would have pursued George Finch's spirited policy of enveloping the man in the table-cloth and thereafter plugging him in the eye, will never be known: for the necessity for such a procedure was removed by the sudden extinction of the lights: and it was at this point that the advantage of being in that particular spot became apparent.
From the table to the fire-escape was but a few steps: and Hamilton Beamish, seizing his fiancée by the hand, dragged her thither and, placing her foot on the lowest step, gave her an upward boost which left no room for misapprehension. A moment later, Madame Eulalie was hurrying roofwards, with Hamilton Beamish in close attendance.
They stood together at the end of their journey, looking down. The lights of the Purple Chicken were still out, and from the darkness there rose a confused noise indicative of certain persons unknown being rather rough with certain other persons unknown. It seemed to Madame Eulalie that she and her mate were well out of it, and she said so.
"I never realised before what a splendid man you were to have by one in an emergency, Jimmy dear," she said. "Anything slicker than the way you scooped us out of that place I never saw. You must have had lots and lots of practice."
Hamilton Beamish was passing a handkerchief over his dome-like forehead. The night was warm, and the going had been fast.
"I shall never forgive myself," he said, "for exposing you to such an experience."
"Oh, but I enjoyed it."
"Well, all has ended well, thank goodness...."
"But has it?" interrupted Madame Eulalie.
"What do you mean?"