One constable shouted for its
driver; another had almost pushed me in when he started to apologise
to somebody inside. It was Petunia, wrapped in slumber. She must
have slipped out by the Emergency Exit and taken action with great
presence of mind. I don't know if they managed to wake her up, or
what happened to her." Jimmy yawned again. "What's the time, Otty?
It must be any hour of the morning. . . . _I_ don't know. She forgot
to return my watch."
NIGHT THE SEVENTH.
THE OUTRAGE.
Jephson awoke me at 7.30 as usual. But I dozed for another half an
hour and should have dropped asleep again had it not been that some
little thing--I could not put a name to the worry--kept teasing my
brain; some piece of grit in the machine. An engagement forgotten?
an engagement to be kept?--Nothing very important. . . .
Then I remembered, jumped out of bed, and knocked in at Jimmy's room.
I expected to find him stretched in heavy slumber. But no: he stood
before his dressing-table, tubbed, shaven, half-clothed, and looking
as fresh as paint.
"Hallo!" said he.
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