“But what’s he wasting time for?” Aunt Jehane asked tartly. “If you didn’t imagine the light, they’re still there in the loft and he can catch them.”
Mr. Somp spoke up for himself. “H’I was waitin’ your h’orders.”
Peter flew down the path. The window was in darkness. Directly he entered the stables he knew what had happened, for the air was heavy with the smell of tobacco.
“Uncle! Uncle!”
“Here, sonny.”
“Quick. Come down. Grace saw you strike a match in the dark and a policeman’s coming to catch you.”
Peter had to go up after him, for Ocky’s wits were clouded. He shook him, saying, “Make haste. Can’t you understand? Surely you don’t want to be caught.”
The fear, in Peter’s voice pierced through the fog of alcohol and reached Ocky’s intellect. “But what’s to be done?”
“There’s an empty tank in the yard—you know it? If you can get in there before they come, they mayn’t find you.”
Ocky woke to life. Stumbling and hurrying he dropped down through the trap-door. As they ran across the yard, they heard the grumbling of voices approaching. Ocky climbed on the tank, keeping low so as not to be seen from the garden, and vanished.