“Oh,” said she. “Right up the stairs there.”
The Pixie went up with the bag of tools on his shoulder, followed closely by Wendell, and found a neat tiled bathroom. He unrolled his tools, selected a monkey-wrench and went to work on the bath-tub pipes. The two women had remained downstairs.
“Well, you’re here,” said the Pixie in a low tone.
“What would you do next?” whispered Wendell.
“Look about a bit,” rejoined the Pixie. “I’ll keep my ear cocked.”
Wendell tiptoed carefully into the hall and peeked into the front bedroom. He tried a closet door, found it unlocked, opened it and peered in at the usual collection of clothes hanging in closets. There was nothing that looked like a magic cloak. He tiptoed into the next bedroom and was investigating the contents of the closet there, when he heard a sudden exclamation from the Pixie in the bathroom. He went in hastily, asking, “Have you found anything?”
The Pixie had entirely disconnected the bath-tub and disjointed the pipes, which lay strewn over the white-tiled floor. He was hastily rolling up his bundle of tools.
“I’m off,” he said. “If the lady asks, tell her I’ve gone for my tools.”
“When are you coming back?” asked Wendell.
“Not at all,” said the Pixie, blithely but hurriedly.