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'He says he's got the police scouring the whole county for them, and that you'd better leave by the first train tomorrow.'

Tietjens said:

'I won't. I can't. I've got to wait here for a wire from Sylvia.'

Macmaster groaned:

'Oh dear! oh dear!' Then he said hopefully: 'But we could have it forwarded to Hythe.'

Tietjens said with some vehemence:

'I tell you I won't leave here. I tell you I've settled it with the police and that swine of a Cabinet Minister. I've mended the leg of the canary of the wife of the police-constable. Sit down and be reasonable. The police don't touch people like us.'

Macmaster said:

'I don't believe you realise the public feeling there is...'

'Of course I do, amongst people like Sandbach,' Tietjens said. 'Sit down I tell you...Have some whisky...' He filled himself out another long tumbler, and, holding it, dropped into a too low-seated, reddish wicker armchair that had cretonne fixings. Beneath his weight the chair sagged a good deal and his dress-shirt bulged up to his chin.