“No doubt,” Doctor Aire put in sardonically, “Sean is thinking of the mediaeval way of playing Adam and Eve with a screen up to their necks.”
“Leave it to me,” said Cosgrove.
“But won’t all this furniture have to be shifted?” inquired Pendleton nervously.
“Leave it to me.”
“Alone—how will you do it?”
“With my God-given arms.”
“But shouldn’t the servants—”
“I will do everything that must be done. But first,” and here I thought Cosgrove became a little wistful, “let us go outside and breathe the God-given air. Leave all to me; assemble here at five o’clock.”
He marched out, his face, with a look of grim regret and determination, turned toward the place in the shrubbery where Paula Lebetwood had disappeared. The last we saw of him, he had followed her out of sight.
The company began to disband.