"She came forward, looked up, and said that I reminded her of Romeo and Juliet upside down. "'Of course!' I explained. 'We're in Pekin. Get to the piano, quick.' "'I've forgotten my scales,' she answered back, between Farrell's calls of ''Core! 'Core!'--'Will it do if I sit on the keys?' "She went to the instrument. 'Often, and _con expressione_!' I shouted; 'and back-pedal for all you are worth!' Then I climbed down and collared Farrell, for the police had begun to hammer on the door. I grabbed for his head: but it must have been by the collar I caught him--that being where he wore most fur. . . . There was a stairway between the stalls and the gallery. I whirled him up it, and leaned over the gallery rail, calling to Petunia. She had dragged off the piano-cover and was rolling herself up in it. . . . Then, as the police crashed in, I switched off the lights. "Somehow or another I hauled Farrell up and on to the flat roof. 'Now,' said I, after prospecting a bit in a hurry, 'the great point is to keep cool. You follow me over this parapet, lower yourself, and drop on to the next roof. It's a matter of sixteen feet at most, and then we'll find a water-pipe.' "But he wouldn't. He said that he suffered from giddiness on a height and had done so from the age of sixteen, but that he was game for any number of policemen. He'd seen too many policemen, and wanted to reduce the number. I left him clawing at a chimney-pot, and--well, I told you the stucco was brittle, and you saw the state of his clothes. I think he must have got out a brick or two and put up a fight. "For my part, I slid three-quarters of the way down a pipe, lost my grip somehow and tumbled sock upon the serried ranks of a brutal and licentious constabulary. They broke my fall, and afterwards I did my best. But, as Farrell had justly complained, there were too many of them. So now you know," Jimmy wound up with a yawn. "What about the Lady Petunia?" I asked. "Oh!" He woke up with a start and laughed: "I forgot--and it's the cream, too. . . . The police who grabbed me had been hastily summoned by whistle. They rushed me up two side streets and towards a convenient taxi. It was convenient: it was stationary. . . . It was my own, own taxi, still sitting. One constable shouted for its driver; another had almost pushed me in when he started to apologise to somebody inside. It was Petunia, wrapped in slumber. She must have slipped out by the Emergency Exit and taken action with great presence of mind. I don't know if they managed to wake her up, or what happened to her." Jimmy yawned again. "What's the time, Otty? It must be any hour of the morning. . . . _I_ don't know. She forgot to return my watch." NIGHT THE SEVENTH. THE OUTRAGE.