"He'll get the sack, or have to resign."
"In that case he'll get his deserts. Can't understand how he got the job."
"No, you have no comprehension whatever of the rapier, or perhaps we should say the stiletto, or the back stairs."
"Suppose Robinson will get the job."
"Robinson will go first, I'm afraid." There was a touch of real sorrow in Darwen's voice.
"You're a funny chap, you know, Darwen. Who's going to get it, then?"
"Well, I shall have a shot for it, of course. How would you like Robinson's job?"
"First class, for a time."
"Precisely. 'For a time.' I don't imagine that either of us will petrify here." Darwen's eyes had a strangely humorous glitter, he arose and stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "Good-night, old chap!"
"Good-night."