Battle gave him a look, and George’s discreet habits assumed their usual sway.
“Now then,” he said, moving to the door, “everyone go back to bed, please. There’s been a—er—”
“A little accident,” said Superintendent Battle easily.
“A—er—an accident. I shall be much obliged if everyone will go back to bed.”
Everyone was clearly reluctant to do so.
“Lady Coote—please—”
“The poor boy,” said Lady Coote in a motherly fashion.
She rose from a kneeling position with great reluctance. And as she did so, Jimmy stirred and sat up.
“Hallo!” he said thickly. “What’s the matter?”
He looked round him vacantly for a minute or two and then intelligence returned to his eye.
“Have you got him?” he demanded eagerly.
“Got who?”
“The man. Climbed down the ivy. I was by the window there. Grabbed him and we had no end of a set-to—”
“One of those nasty, murderous cat burglars,” said Lady Coote. “Poor boy.”
Jimmy was looking round him.