"What luck?" Jerningham looked up as he came back into the other room.
"Dam' all, as they say in the vernacular. Have you blighters finished the beer?"
"Probably," remarked Peter Darrell. "What's the programme now?"
Hugh examined the head of his glass with a professional eye before replying.
"Two things," he murmured at length, "fairly leap to the eye. The first is to get Potts away to a place of safety; the second is to get over to Paris."
"Well, let's get gay over the first, as a kick-off," said Jerningham, rising. "There's a car outside the door; there is England at our disposal. We'll take him away; you pad the hoof to Victoria and catch the boat-train."
"It sounds too easy," remarked Hugh. "Have a look out of the window, Ted, and you'll see a man frightfully busy doing nothing not far from the door. You will also see a racing-car just across the street. Put a wet compress on your head, and connect the two."
A gloomy silence settled on the assembly, to be broken by Jerry Seymour suddenly waking up with a start.
"I've got the stomach-ache," he announced proudly. His listeners gazed at him unmoved.
"You shouldn't eat so fast," remarked Algy severely. "And you certainly oughtn't to drink that beer."
To avert the disaster he immediately consumed it himself, but Jerry was too engrossed with his brain-storm to notice.
"I've got the stomach-ache," he repeated, "and
