"Sorry," the British captain said with a smile and a shake of his head. "Fact is, there isn't anything I could tell you. I've been here before, though, and it's no jail. Wish the devil I was in your shoes. Well, I must trot. Go inside. You're expected. And—and good luck!"
Captain Smith-Standers shook hands with them again, saluted, though he still wore civies, turned on his heel and went down the steps to the car. Dave and Freddy watched the car drive away, then turned and stared at each other.
"Have you ever been cockeyed drunk, Freddy?" Dave suddenly blurted out.
"No, never," the English youth replied. "Have you?"
"No," Dave grunted.
"Then why do you ask?" Freddy demanded.
"Just wondering," Dave murmured, and reached for the handle of the door. "Just wondering if it makes you feel the way I do now. In sixteen million pieces, and every doggone thing upside down. Well, I suppose this is our next move, eh?"
"Fancy it is," Freddy replied with a shrug and a frown. "So open the blasted door, and let's go in."