Five hundred pounds for one evening’s play was not a bad profit, yet Hoggan never dreamed that the London police were already upon his track.
What his friend had suggested was the best way out of the difficulty. As he had so often done before he must once again burn his boats and clear.
The outlook was far too risky. Yet he was filled with chagrin. In the circumstances, the acceptances were useless.
“I shall want money,” he remarked.
“Well, boy, I guess I haven’t any cash-money to spare just at the moment, as you know,” replied his accomplice. “We’ve been hard hit lately. I’m sorry we came across on this side.”
“Our luck’s out,” Hoggan declared despondently, as he selected a cigarette from his case and lit it. “What about little Lady Michelcoombe? She ought to be good for a bit more.”
“I’ll try, if you like, boy. But for Heaven’s sake clear out of this infernal city, or you’ll go to jail sure,” urged Edward Patten, his friend.
“Where shall I go, Ted? What’s your advice?”
“Get over to Calais or Ostend, or by the Hook into Holland. Then slip along to some quiet spot, and let me know where you are. Lie low until I send you some oof. You can go on for a week or so, can’t you?”
“For a fortnight.”