“Ha, ha!” said Wheatfield; “splendid joke!” and vanished.
D’Arcy’s countenance suddenly turned pale as he gripped his companion by the arm.
“What’s the matter?” inquired Ashby, alarmed for his friend’s health. “What’s up?”
“It’s all up! We’re regularly done. My, that is a go!”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Why, you blockhead, didn’t you see that was the wrong Wheatfield—not Wally, but the Modern one! And now he’s gone to let those chaps out, and we’re clean done for!”
“Whew! what is to be done?” groaned Ashby, almost as pale as his friend.