Professor Thunder was down on his back on the crisp grass again, smoking.

He was feeling good, and opened his heart.
"We'll top off with a touch of old Jamaica, Nickie, my boy," he said.
"There's a bottle in the box-seat.

You might lead her out." Nickie needed no second invitation.

He sprang up with unaccustomed alacrity, and passed out of the circle of light into the bush darkness.
He found the bottle in the locker under the driving seat, and stepping down from the vehicle turned again towards the fire.

The extraordinary change in the peaceful scene he had just left flashed upon him with the vividness of a tableau in melodrama The gifted members of Professor Thunder's world company were no longer lounging carelessly on the grass, they stood erect, grouped together, their faces, tense with fear and amazement, showing whitey-yellow in the firelight, their hands thrown above their heads.