Martin Luther, after a stare of pained incredulity, walked stiffly to the farthest corner of the room and, turning his back on the curate, signified with silent and elaborate symbolism that he washed his hands and feet of the whole matter.
And now the Reverend Horatio, mindless of difficulties and dangers, set about keeping his rash promise to return the field mouse to its sorrowing relatives. First he tried the door in the vain hope that Harriet had secretly relented and unlocked it. No such luck. The window was his only means of exit. Very well, he would exit by the window. The thought of failing to keep his word never entered his head.
Looking out of the window, the kindly gentleman studied the situation with scientific mind. Three feet below was the glass roof of the conservatory, which was not more than eight feet wide at this point and curved downward like the brink of a glass waterfall. At its outer edge there was a drop of perhaps six feet to the driveway.
One thing the curate, leaning out, noted with joy. A little to the right, just where the conservatory rounded the corner of the house and the supporting girder was of a greater width the wistaria took an unexpected turn and spanned the dome of glass with a network of rope-like branches that covered it in some places to the width of a foot. It was as if the friendly tree had miraculously gone out of its way to help him. To Merle's imagination this seemed like a sign of providential approval.
There still remained the disposition of the field mouse, but this offered only a momentary difficulty. The solution was found in a bag cleverly improvised from the curate's silk handkerchief, the ends gathered together, dumpling-wise, and secured by the string of his eyeglass detached for the purpose. And, thus enveloped, the little creature was safely and comfortably suspended (like a princess swung in a Sedan chair) from the top button of Horatio's black coat. This arrangement left the curate's hands free for climbing.
Having assured himself that the combined strength of the branches and the glass would bear his weight, Horatio proceeded with the descent and found this perfectly easy; but just as he had reached the jumping-off place, the curate was brought to a palpitating halt by the sound of steps in the conservatory beneath him. Parting the wistaria leaves and peering downward through the glass he saw Anton, the chauffeur, moving among the plants from the direction of the library.
"What's he doing there, I wonder?" thought Merle. "What business has Anton in the conservatory?"
As he came directly underneath the spot where Horatio was crouching, the chauffeur stood still and looked about him cautiously. Apparently satisfied that he was unobserved, he pulled a blue-and-white envelope from his pocket, and, skillfully loosening the flap, took out a paper which, as he held it scarcely two feet below him, Merle could see was a cablegram. After a glance at the contents, Anton replaced the paper in its envelope and quickly retraced his steps toward the library.
It all happened so quickly that, even had Merle tried to read the cable, he could not have done so. Some figures and the word "Gramercy" caught his eye. Then, as he looked away, the humorous appropriateness of the term eavesdropper to his position on the roof caused him to laugh aloud. It was fortunate for the Reverend Horatio that Anton was out of hearing, more fortunate than the gentle curate dreamed.