“Climbing down the ivy, you said? My God, Lomax, you don’t think they’ve got away with it?”
He rushed from the room. For some curious reason nobody spoke during his absence. In a few minutes Sir Stanley returned. His round, chubby face was white as death.
“My God, Battle,” he said, “they’ve got it. O’Rourke’s fast asleep—drugged, I think. I can’t wake him. And the papers have vanished.”