"You think he'll let you in?"
"Charlie? I think so. They're very cunning, fellows like that. He said he would hide me in his room."
We discussed it. There was so much—and yet so little that was tangible—to discuss! But I realize now that Alan, with his greater knowledge of what all this might mean, had formed fairly definite plans. To discuss them with me then, was futile. He did not do it.
We got home to Nanette, and had supper. My own reticence matched Alan's when it came to going into details with Nanette. It would have led us far afield in fantastic, meaningless theory. But the girl was there, held virtually a prisoner; we wanted to release her. That we told Nanette, but nothing more. It was, indeed, as definite a plan as I could form myself.
It was a hurried supper. Nanette had it ready for us when we came in.
It was eight o'clock when, after hurried preparations, we started. Alan brought his car from the near-by garage. Nanette, with her hair braided and piled upon her head, was ready. We all wore outer coats. The evening was cooling; the sky was overcast.
Alan went into his workshop; came out with a small cloth bag. "Nanette, get your black cloak—I couldn't find it."
"I thought I'd wear this coat and hat, Alan. Don't I look all right?"
Eternal feminine! The subconscious strain under which we were laboring made us laugh.