"They're in the dressing room, sir."
"Let's have a look."
Doran retired and returned almost immediately with a complete fireman's outfit. Barraclough tried on the helmet and nodded approvingly.
"Good enough. Stick 'em somewhere out of sight." And while Doran obeyed he added, "Damn silly idea, isn't it?"
"I haven't heard it, sir."
"Oh, it has its points, I suppose. See, I've got to get clear of here tonight and if—well—another scheme fails—I'm going to have a shot at it this way. At eleven forty-five you'll go out and ring up some fire engines."
"Just so, sir."
"I shall burn brown paper in that grate with the register closed. Windows open at the bottom—plenty of smoke—effect of flames produced by switching off and on the electric light. It ought to be good for a crowd of about ten thousand. Soon as the engines roll up I go out dressed as a fireman. Car at the top of St. James's Street. Coal train in a siding at Addison Road which pulls out at twelve five. Me under a tarpaulin somewhere. Whoosh! Gone!"
"And after that, sir?"
"Ah!" said Barraclough, "that's another story."