They walked briskly down to The Plough, the one inn of Little Deeping, where, as usual, Captain Baster was staying, and went in through the front door which stood open. At the sound of their footsteps in her hall the stout but good-humored landlady came bustling out of the bar to learn what they wanted.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Pittaway,” said the Terror politely. “We’ve come for Captain Baster’s cigarette-case. He’s left it somewhere in his room.”
At the thought of handling the shining cigarette-case Mrs. Pittaway rubbed her hands on her apron; then the look of favor with which her eyes had rested on the fair guileless face of the Terror, changed to a frown; and she said: “Bother the thing! It’s sure to be stuck somewhere out of sight. And the bar full, too.”
“Don’t you trouble; I’ll get it. I know the bedroom,” said the Terror with ready amiability; and he started to mount the stairs.
“Oh, thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Pittaway, bustling back to the bar.
Erebus and Wiggins dashed lightly up the stairs after the Terror. In less than two minutes the deft hands of the Twins had dealt with the bed; and their intelligent eyes were eagerly scanning the hapless unprotected bedroom. Erebus sprang to the shaving-brush on the mantelpiece and thrust it under the mattress. The Terror locked Captain Baster’s portmanteau; and as he placed the keys beside the shaving-brush, he said coldly:
“That’ll teach him not to be so careless.”
Erebus giggled; then she took the water-jug and filled one of Captain Baster’s inviting dress-boots with water. Wiggins rocked with laughter.
“Don’t stand giggling there! Why don’t you do something?” said Erebus sharply.
Wiggins looked thoughtful; then he said: “A clothes-brush in bed is very annoying when you stick your foot against it.”