This suspense! My Robert--who set my egg to hatch--in the bosom of whose Norfolk raiment I have nestled so often and so pleasantly! I think, if you'll excuse me--' 'Yes--DO,' cried Anthea, 'I wish we'd thought of asking you before.' Cyril opened the window.

The Phoenix flapped its sunbright wings and vanished.
'So THAT'S all right,' said Cyril, taking up his needle and instantly pricking his hand in a new place.
Of course I know that what you have really wanted to know about all this time is not what Anthea and Cyril did, but what happened to Jane and Robert after they fell through the carpet on to the leads of the house which was called number 705, Amersham Road.
But I had to tell you the other first.

That is one of the most annoying things about stories, you cannot tell all the different parts of them at the same time.
Robert's first remark when he found himself seated on the damp, cold, sooty leads was-- 'Here's a go!' Jane's first act was tears.
'Dry up, Pussy; don't be a little duffer,' said her brother, kindly, 'it'll be all right.' And then he looked about, just as Cyril had known he would, for something to throw down, so as to attract the attention of the wayfarers far below in the street.

He could not find anything.

Curiously enough, there were no stones on the leads, not even a loose tile.