She whispered frantically, “Step on it! You can’t stay here!”
“No, but I have to decide what comes next. Steady on! Don’t worry about me; I’ll come clear. What did you do? Are the lights finished for good?”
“Did you notice I’d sneaked out? I was afraid the lid ’ud blow off, soon and I wanted to do my bit. I had the dickens of a time finding the fuse-box in the kitchen. I pulled off the handle of the big switch completely, and gave the rest of the works a kick so a lot of stuff fell down to the floor. I also cut the telephone connection into bits to round off a good night’s effort.”
“Wonderful. I’m surprised you weren’t killed by the current.”
“Never mind wonderful. I know my electricity. All in the good cause. Only step on the gas!”
“By Jove, I will!” I cried, divining the sense of this saying. “I must get a tin of petrol—no, two tins. First, though, listen. Will you do something more for me?”
“Yes, yes—anything. But make it snappy.”
“I want my diary. Get hold of it and wait for word from me. Where can I write you safely?”
“You’re crazy. They’ll trace you sure as—”
“Not if you do this right. The book is in the desk drawer in my room. It’s not locked. It’s your part to conceal the thing, here, until the wind blows over a bit. The police will believe I have it, and I want it—for a good reason. Eventually you can recover it and mail it to the name and address I write you. Where can a letter reach you safely?”