Whisperings could be heard
in the corridor.
Somebody hammered on the door.
"Yes?" called Psmith patiently.
"You'd better come out, you know; you'll only get it hotter if you
don't."
"Leave us, Spiller; we would be alone."
A bell rang in the distance.
"Tea," said Jellicoe; "we shall have to go now."
"They won't do anything till after tea, I shouldn't think," said Mike.
"There's no harm in going out."
The passage was empty when they opened the door; the call to food was
evidently a thing not to be treated lightly by the enemy.
In the dining room the beleaguered garrison were the object of general
attention. Everybody turned to look at them as they came in. It was
plain that the study episode had been a topic of conversation. Spiller's
face was crimson, and Robinson's coat sleeve still bore traces of
garden mold.
Mike felt rather conscious of the eyes, but Psmith was in his element.
His demeanor throughout the meal was that of some whimsical monarch
condescending for a freak to revel with his humble subjects.
Toward the end of the meal Psmith scribbled a note and passed it to
Mike. It read: "Directly this is over, nip upstairs as quickly as
you can.
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