Get to the piano,
quick.'
"'I've forgotten my scales,' she answered back, between Farrell's
calls of ''Core! 'Core!'--'Will it do if I sit on the keys?'
"She went to the instrument. 'Often, and _con expressione_!'
I shouted; 'and back-pedal for all you are worth!' Then I climbed
down and collared Farrell, for the police had begun to hammer on the
door. I grabbed for his head: but it must have been by the collar I
caught him--that being where he wore most fur. . . . There was a
stairway between the stalls and the gallery. I whirled him up it,
and leaned over the gallery rail, calling to Petunia. She had
dragged off the piano-cover and was rolling herself up in it. . . .
Then, as the police crashed in, I switched off the lights.
"Somehow or another I hauled Farrell up and on to the flat roof.
'Now,' said I, after prospecting a bit in a hurry, 'the great point
is to keep cool. You follow me over this parapet, lower yourself,
and drop on to the next roof. It's a matter of sixteen feet at most,
and then we'll find a water-pipe.'
"But he wouldn't.
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