"You two can stand on the bank and be policemen," suggested the hostess. "One on each side."
"Not on your life," objected one of the men. "One go, all go!"
The popping of a champagne cork expressed the explosive quality of the neurotic atmosphere. "Come on, Dee," whispered Sally Dangerfield. "If you quit now it will gum a good game."
"Oh, well, you can't bluff me," returned Dee aloud. "I hate bathing suits anyway."
There was a shout of acclaim. The party organised and moved forward across the dripping courtyard under the guidance of a pair of lights. The men rigged the nets while the women retired to the squash court, designated as their dressing room. There they disrobed with feverish laughter and jerky bits of talk. This adventure had given a fillip to even their sated appetite for sensation.
"Who'll go first?" asked one in the gloom.
"Match for it," came the answering suggestion.
"Oh, piffle and likewise pish!" cut in Viccy Carson's shrill giggle. "I'll be the goat. Put a dimmer on that light, someone."
A moment later Dee heard her call at the end of the passage: "Anybody present in case I fall in?"
Several male voices answered: "Stout sport!" "Who's the pioneer?" "Sally." "No; it's little Viccy."