"Better have some more," I suggested, "in case Simpson is merely
soporific. We anticipate a slumbering audience, and Samuel explaining a
new kind of googlie he's invented."

Entered Thomas lazily.

"Hallo," he said in his slow voice. "What's it all about?"

"It's a raid on the Begum's palace," explained Archie rapidly. "Dahlia
decoys the Chief Mucilage; you, Thomas, drive the submarine; Myra has
charge of the clockwork mouse, and we others hang about and sing. To say
more at this stage would be to bring about a European conflict."

"Coffee, Thomas?" said Myra.

"I bet he's having us on," said Thomas gloomily, as he stirred his
coffee.

There was a hurricane in the hall. Chairs were swept over; coats and hats
fell to the ground; a high voice offered continuous apologies--and
Simpson came in.

"Hallo, Myra!" he said eagerly. "Hallo, old chap! Hallo, Dahlia! Hallo,
Archie! Hallo, Thomas, old boy!" He fixed his spectacles firmly on his
nose and beamed round the room.

"We're all here--thanking you very much for inviting us," I said. "Have a
cigar--if you've brought any with you."

Fortunately he had brought several with him.