In his pocket he carried some bread and cheese, so that he need not come home for the mid-day meal.
All through the hot summer day he wandered about, seeking employment. In the evening he returned and reported that he had again met with no success.
“Never mind,” said Susan. “Things will take a turn. Now, just run upstairs and ask Mounseer for that hammer. I want it to knock some nails in Lucy’s cupboard, so as she can hang up her things tidy. Tell him he shall have it back if he hasn’t done with it, but he’s been banging nearly all day, so I dare say he has.”
On reaching the Frenchman’s door Martin saw that a staple had been fitted to one of the side joists, evidently to receive a padlock. From within the room came the sound of knocking. He tapped on the door; the sound ceased and Mounseer asked:
“Who is there?”
“It’s me, sir,” said Martin.
“Ah, you, my young friend. Wait but one little moment.”
The bolts were drawn inside, the door was opened, and there stood Mounseer in his shirt-sleeves, chisel in hand. Martin gave his message.
“But yes; assuredly: I ask pardon for keeping it so long. But you see, one must be careful. My lock was broken by that villain; therefore I must make other defences.”
Martin noticed that an iron socket for a bar was fitted to the inside of the door, and the bar itself, a stout baulk of wood, was leaning against the wall.