And then at last, when the utter weariness of life had grown almost more than they could bear, and some had begun to doubt if Toby could really do anything for them, something happened. Terence was sitting with Rouse in his study one evening when there sounded upon the door a sharp, peremptory knock. Then the door swung on its hinges and there entered one who held himself strangely erect, whose chin was so proudly uplifted that he seemed a living example of the proud and patient spirit that was keeping Harley solid during this the last round of the long fight. His glasses had slipped a little over the bridge of his nose, and when he stopped and brought his gaze to bear upon them each in turn he looked at them quaintly over the rims. At last his bearing relaxed. Safely inside the room with the closed door behind him he became suddenly a human boy, and it was clear that he was somewhat unsettled. It made him rather more likeable.
“I want to tell you something,” he began. “P’r’aps I ought to have come before, but I’ve been waiting to make sure.”
“What is it, Henry?” said Rouse.
Henry cast a deprecating eye at his clothes and, following his gaze, Rouse perceived that they were smeared with dirt. He held out his hands and revealed their blackened palms.
“I’ve been climbing up another drain-pipe.”
“How many is that you’ve climbed up now?” asked Rouse. “What is your average for the season?”
Henry ignored him.
“There’s a drain-pipe at Seymour’s,” said he, “that takes you on to a ledge, and you can walk along the ledge and look into Coles’ study.”
“What did you want to look into Coles’ study for?”
“I didn’t look in,” said Henry. “I listened.”