. ’ ‘No, miss,’ cut in Kimble. " "Very well," replied Thames, about to depart. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. There was a pint of champagne and a quart of mineral water (both taboo) at his elbow. Three times he uttered a phrase: "A djinn in a blue-serge coat!" And each time he would follow it with a chuckle—the chuckle of a soul in damnation. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. ” “If you can tear yourself away from this delightful place in five minutes,” she answered, “I think I can get rid of the others.
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