Every now and then he was aghast at his own presumption. How dared he think
that he had discovered what so many wiser and clever men had overlooked?
Nevertheless, he stuck tenaciously to his idea.
That evening he and Albert once more penetrated the grounds of Astley
Priors. Tommy’s ambition was somehow or other to gain admission to the house
itself. As they approached cautiously, Tommy gave a sudden gasp.
On the second floor window some one standing between the window and the
light in the room threw a silhouette on the blind. It was one Tommy would have
recognized anywhere! Tuppence was in that house!
He clutched Albert by the shoulder.
“Stay here! When I begin to sing, watch that window.”
He retreated hastily to a position on the main drive, and began in a deep
roar, coupled with an unsteady gait, the following ditty:
I am a Soldier A jolly British Soldier; You
can see that I’m a Soldier by my feet . . .
It had been a favourite on the gramophone in Tuppence’s hospital days. He
did not doubt but that she would recognize it and draw her own conclusions.
Tommy had not a note of music in his voice, but his lungs were excellent. The
noise he produced was terrific.
Presently an unimpeachable butler, accompanied by an equally unimpeachable
footman, issued from the front door. The butler remonstrated with him. Tommy
continued to sing, addressing the butler affectionately as “dear old whiskers.”
The footman took him by one arm, the butler by the other. They ran him down the
drive, and neatly out of the gate. The butler threatened him with the police if
he intruded again. It was beautifully done–soberly and with perfect decorum.
Anyone would have sworn that the butler was a real butler, the footman a real
footman–only, as it happened, the butler was Whittington!
Tommy retired to the inn and waited for Albert’s return. At last that
worthy made his appearance.
“Well?” cried Tommy eagerly.
“It’s all right. While they was a-running of you out the window opened,
and something was chucked out.” He handed a scrap of paper to Tommy. “It was
wrapped round a letterweight.”
On the paper were scrawled three words: “To-morrow–same time.”
“Good egg!” cried Tommy. “We’re getting going.”
“I wrote a message on a piece of paper, wrapped it round a stone, and
chucked it through the window,” continued Albert breathlessly.
Tommy groaned.
“Your zeal will be the undoing of us, Albert. What did you say?”
“Said we was a-staying at the inn. If she could get away, to come there
and croak like a frog.”
“She’ll know that’s you,” said Tommy with a sigh of relief. “Your
imagination runs away with you, you know, Albert. Why, you wouldn’t recognize a
frog croaking if you heard it.”
Albert looked rather crest-fallen.
“Cheer up,” said Tommy. “No harm done. That butler’s an old friend of
mine–I bet he knew who I was, though he didn’t let on. It’s not their game to
show suspicion. That’s why we’ve found it fairly plain sailing. They don’t
want to discourage me altogether. On the other hand, they don’t want to make it
too easy. I’m a pawn in their game, Albert, that’s what I am. You see, if the
spider lets the fly walk out too easily, the fly might suspect it was a put-up
job. Hence the usefulness of that promising youth, Mr. T. Beresford, who’s
blundered in just at the right moment for them. But later, Mr. T. Beresford had
better look out!”
Tommy retired for the night in a state of some elation. He had elaborated a
careful plan for the following evening. He felt sure that the inhabitants of
Astley Priors would not interfere with him up to a certain point. It was after
that that Tommy proposed to give them a surprise.
About twelve o’clock, however, his calm was rudely shaken. He was told that
some one was demanding him in the bar. The applicant proved to be a rude-looking
carter well coated with mud.
“Well, my good fellow, what is it?” asked Tommy.
“Might this be for you, sir?” The carter held out a very dirty folded