Far from being pleased at the offer of a bribe, the
manager of the Imperial, an old Harrovian, raised his foot, and Hamar,
who invariably paled at the prospect of violence, hurriedly withdrew.
On the eve of the initiation into Stage Three, the trio were very much
perturbed.
"I hope to goodness nothing will appear to me," Kelson said. "My heart
isn't strong enough to stand the shock of seeing striped figures. They
should come to you, Curtis--a few jumps wouldn't do you any
harm--you're fat enough."
Agreeing each to sleep with a light in his room, they separated, and
at about two o'clock Curtis, who had been suffering of late from his
liver--the effect, so the doctor told him, of living a little too
well--and could not sleep, heard a knock at his door. To his
astonishment it was Kelson--Kelson, in his pyjamas.
"Hulloa!" Curtis exclaimed. "What on earth brings you here, and
however did you come?"
"The usual way!" Kelson said, in what struck Curtis as rather unusual
tones. "I flew here to tell you that we are now in stage three. Give
me paper and ink. I want to write down the instructions I have
received."
Curtis conducted him into his sitting-room, switched on the lights
and, giving him what he wanted, poured out a couple of tumblers of
soda-and-milk.
"This will lower my temperature," he said to himself. "I shall know if
I'm dreaming."
He then sat by Kelson's side and observed what he wrote.
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