“And two men jumped out and started for us,” Monty broke in.
“Great Scott,” Michael cried, indignant that the privacy of his own estate should be invaded, “and here, too!”
“What did you do?” Alice asked eagerly.
“I just screamed and they ran away,” Nora told her a little proudly. “Wasn’t it exciting?” she added, drawing a deep breath. “Just like a book!”
“Michael,” his wife said, shocked, “they might have been killed.”
“What they need is a drink,” he said impressively; “I’ll ring for some brandy.”
“I’d be all right,” Monty stated emphatically, “if I could get one long breath.”
“You do look a bit shaken, old man,” Denby said sympathetically. “What you need is a comforting smoke. You left a pipe on the table in my room. Take my tobacco and light up.”
Monty looked at the pigskin pouch as his friend handed it to him. “Gee!” he said, regarding it as one might a poisonous reptile, “I don’t want that.”
“That’s all right,” Denby said. “I can spare it. And when you’re through with it, drop it in the drawer of the writing-table, will you? I always like to make myself one for coffee in the morning. I’ve smoked enough to-night.”