“I haven’t got the hang of it all yet,” confessed Bill. “You in that place in Seven Dials and all that.” He looked at her unhappily. “I say, Bundle, I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Get mixed up in these sort of things.”
“Why not?” said Bundle. “They’re exciting.”
“Oh, yes—exciting. But they may be damnably dangerous. Look at poor old Ronny.”
“Yes,” said Bundle. “If it hadn’t been for your friend Ronny, I don’t suppose I should ever have got what you call ‘mixed up’ in this thing. But I am. And it’s no earthly use your bleating about it.”
“I know you’re the most frightful sport, Bundle, but—”
“Cut out the compliments. Let’s make plans.”
To her relief, Bill reacted favourably to the suggestion.
“You’re right about the formula,” he said. “Eberhard’s got some sort of formula with him, or rather Sir Oswald has. The stuff has been tested out at his works—very secretly and all that. Eberhard has been down there with him. They’re all in the study now—what you might call coming down to brass tacks.”
“How long is Sir Stanley Digby staying?” asked Jimmy.
“Going back to town tomorrow.”
“H’m,” said Jimmy. “Then one thing’s quite clear. If, as I suppose, Sir Stanley will be taking the formula with him, any funny business there’s going to be will be tonight.”