"In Heaven's name, man, what's the idea?" was shouted at him from every side.
"I'm getting out," was the only answer he condescended.
Nugent Cassis was beginning to lose his nerve as emphasised by the fact that he was continually winding his watch or pulling at his precise grey beard. His usual air of calm ill-humour had deserted him and, as Lord Almont laconically remarked, "Poor old Cassis is flapping in the wind."
"Can't understand their motive," he repeated over and over again. "If they believe they've got Barraclough tucked safely away, what can they gain by this stock juggling?"
"They are laying a false scent presumably," said Mr. Torrington.
"They must be aware that we know about the kidnapping."
"I imagine so. At any rate Cranbourne intends to put them wise."
"Then where's the object?"
"Our friend Frencham Altar has disappointed 'em perhaps, so they turn their attentions once more to our humble selves."
"Makes me almost wish we'd left the whole thing alone. Seventy thousand pounds in three weeks. Appalling! Appalling!"