Val simply stared, but Jeems got to his feet in one swift movement.
For, coming purposefully up the terrace steps, were four men they had
seen before and had very good cause to remember for the rest of their
lives.
In the lead strutted the rival, a tight smile rendering his unlovely
features yet more disagreeable. Behind him trotted the red-faced
counselor who had accompanied him on his first visit. But matching the
rival step for step was the "Boss," while "Red" brought up the rear in a
tidy fashion.
"Swell place, ain't it?" demanded the rival, taking no notice of Val or
Jeems. "Make yourselves to home, boys; the place is yours."
Val gripped the arm of his chair. Sam, Rupert, Holmes--they were all
beyond call. It was left to him to meet this unbelievable invasion
alone. There was a stir beside him. Val glanced up to meet the slightest
of reassuring nods from the swamper. Jeems was with him.
"Whatcha gonna do with the joint, Brick?" asked Red, tossing his
cigarette down on the flagstones and grinding it to powder with his
heel.
"I dunno yet." The rival strode importantly toward the front door.
"You might tell us when you find out," Val suggested quietly.
With an exaggerated start of surprise the rival turned toward the boy.
"Oh, so it's you, kid?"
"Perhaps," Val said softly, "you had better introduce your friends.
After all, I like to know the names of my guests.
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