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"I I cannot go, gentlemen," she stammered. "Please don't insist please don't ask why. I cannot go " "I shay, Conshance, by Jove, the joke's on you," exclaimed Freddie. "I know who 't ish you're waitin' f-for. Well, he can't come. He's locked in." "Freddie, you are drunk!" in deep scorn. "I know it," he admitted cheerfully. "We've looked ever'where for you. We're your frien's.
He said it was at 'n eatin'-house. We've been ever' eatin'-house in Inchbrook. Was here first of all. Leave it to Rodney. Wassen we, Rodney? You bet we was. You wassen here at 'leven o'clock. Come on home, Conshance. 'S all right. He's safe. He can't come." "But he will come, unless something terrible has happened to him," she almost sobbed in her desperation.
"Ever sinch 'leven o'clock, Conshance," supplemented Freddie, trying to frown. "My dear Miss F-Fowler," began Odell-Carney in, his most suave manner, "it is after two o'clock. In in the morning at that. You you shouldn't be sittin' here all 'lone thish this hour in the morning. Please come home with us. Your mother hash has ask us to fetch you I mean your sister. Beg pardon."
She had leaped to her feet with a short scream and was clutching his arm frantically. "On bail? At half-past ten? Good heavens, then then oh, are you sure?" "Poshtive, abs'lutely." "Then what has become of my nine thousand crowns?" "You c'n search me, Conshance," murmured Freddie. "I don' know what you 're talkin' 'bout, Cons'ance," said Mr. Rodney in a very hurt tone.
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