He walked to the library door.
“Where are you going?” questioned Peter. “Aren’t you going to stop to enjoy the performance?”
“I’m going to shut this door, which I want you to keep shut—then I’m going upstairs to my own bedroom—look at your watch—in five minutes’ time fire one shot—then wait till you hear from me—clear on everything?”
“Right‑o,” murmured Peter. “I understand perfectly.”
Anthony closed the door. Peter watched the hand of his watch travel the five appointed minutes. Then he walked to the French doors and opened them. The coast was clear—the walk to the rockery entirely deserted. He returned to the center of the room as he had been directed and pulled the trigger. Then he grinned to himself. “Expect the inhabitants of Assynton Lodge that hear that will be scared stiff unless old Bathurst tipped them the bright idea just now.” The door opened behind him.
“Well?” said Bathurst.
“Well?” said Peter.
“I lay on my bed just as I should if I were there in the ordinary way, and although I was listening, old son, I never heard a sound.” His face showed obvious signs of pleasure.
“What makes you so pleased about that?” queried Peter.
“What makes me pleased?” echoed Anthony. “Why, it fits in with my theory beautifully—that’s what pleases me. Now I’m going again—wait another five minutes and then fire a second shot exactly similar to the previous one.”