“Very remiss,” he murmured. “Well, goodnight.”

He withdrew. Jimmy sat on the edge of his bed listening for a minute.

“That was a narrow shave,” he murmured to himself. “Suspicious sort of chap, Pongo. Never seems to sleep. Nasty habit of his prowling around with a revolver.”

He got up and opened one of the drawers of the dressing-table. Beneath an assortment of ties lay a pile of biscuits.

“There’s nothing for it,” said Jimmy. “I shall have to eat all the damned things. Ten to one, Pongo will come prowling round in the morning.”

With a sigh, he settled down to a meal of biscuits for which he had no inclination whatever.