The smoke of singeing, burning wool arose, and he took several more lumps of glowing coal from the fire-place and deposited them on the rug. Then a panic seized him, and he tried to stamp the conflagration out. But he only stamped the glowing coals more firmly in, and, though amazed at his audacity, he did not really want to extinguish it. He wanted something to happen. Quite deliberately, though with cheeks burning with excitement, he walked out of the room, leaving the door open, and simultaneously heard the crunch of the gravel under the wheels of his mother's returning motor. He did not wish to see her, and went straight to the night-nursery (now his exclusive bedroom) and locked himself in. But he was not in the least sorry for what he had done: if anything he wished he had put more coals there. Nor was he frightened at the thought of possible consequences. Merely, he did not care what happened, so long as something happened. That, he reflected, it was pretty certain to do. But he made no plans.
Before very long he heard some one turning the handle of his door, and he kept quite still. Then his father's voice said:
"Are you there, Archie?" And still he said nothing.
The voice grew louder and the handle rattled.
"Archie, open your door immediately," said his father.
Not in the least knowing why, Archie proceeded to do so. He still felt absolutely defiant and desperate, but for some instinctive reason he obeyed.
Enormous and terrible, his father stood before him.
"Did you put those coals on your mother's hearthrug?" asked Lord
Davidstow.
"No," said Archie.
"Then how did you know they were there?" asked his father.