'Good evening!' I said genially. 'Let me help you out of that.' The head
glared. 'We've got 'em,' I went on. 'They came to quite the wrong shop
for this sort of game--quite the wrong shop.'

'Game!' said the head. 'We'll see about that. Let me out.'

It was not a promising voice for one so young, and, as usual, I had no
knife.

'You've chewed the string so I can't find the knot,' I said as I worked
with trembling fingers at the cater-pillar's throat. Something untied
itself, and Mr. Wontner wriggled out, collarless, tieless, his coat
split half down his back, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his watch-chain
snapped, his trousers rucked well above the knees.

'Where,' he said grimly, as he pulled them down, 'are Master Trivett and
Master Eames?'

'Both arrested, of course,' I replied. 'Sir George'--I gave The Infant's
full title as a baronet--'is a Justice of the Peace. He'd be very
pleased if you dined with us. There's a room ready for you.' I picked
up the sack.

'D'you know,' said Mr. Wontner through his teeth--but the car's bonnet
was between us, 'that this looks to me like--I won't say conspiracy
_yet_, but uncommonly like a confederacy.'

When injured souls begin to distinguish and qualify, danger is over. So
I grew bold.