"Good," said Billy. "We ought to have some fun with the heir, whoever he is."
Cumming tied up his boat to the steps, and climbing up on to the quay saw us safely into the car. I don't know whether any of our operations on board the Seagull had been visible from Burnham, but, at all events, our old longshore friend did not seem particularly interested in us. He just pocketed the five shillings I gave him for looking after the car, and then promptly shuffled off for the hotel tap without waiting to watch us depart.
"So long, then," said Cumming, as soon as we had packed ourselves in and the driver was ready to start. "I'll give your love to Sangatte as I pass him."
"Thanks," I said; "and don't worry if he makes any fuss. George Gordon says we were legally justified in anything short of manslaughter."
"Skunk slaughter," said Cumming, "is what you want an indemnity against."
We turned off round the corner of the quay, stopping at the Post Office to send a wire to Gordon.
"Expedition successful," I wrote, "Will you meet us Westminster Palace Hotel five-thirty."
"It's just opposite to the House of Commons," I pointed out to Billy, "so he'll be able to run across even if he's busy. I'm dying to know what happened after we left."
"What I'm dying for is some food," remarked Billy, as we came out again to the car. "I expect Miss Solano agrees with me."
Mercia shook her head. "I am not very hungry," she said. "Let us wait till we get back to London."