Vaux gazed meditatively upon the coals, glass in one hand, cigarette in the other. Patriotism is a tough career.
"This is worse than inhuman," he thought. "If I go out on such an errand to-night I sure am doing my bitter bit. … Probably some policeman will shoot me—unless I freeze to death. This is a vastly unpleasant affair…. Vastly!"
He was still caressing the fire with his regard when Miss Erith came back.
She wore a fur coat buttoned to the throat, a fur toque, fur gloves.
As he rose she naively displayed a jimmy and two flashlights.
"I see," he said, "very nice, very handy! But we don't need these to convict us."
She laughed and handed him the instruments; and he pocketed them and followed her downstairs.
Her car was waiting, engine running; she spoke to the Kadiak chauffeur, got in, and Vaux followed.
"You know," he said, pulling the mink robe over her and himself, "you're behaving very badly to your superior officer."
"I'm so excited, so interested! I hope I'm not lacking in deference to my honoured Chief of Division. Am I, Mr. Vaux?"
"You certainly hustle me around some! This is a crazy thing we're doing."