“It was his own son,” said Mr Seymour, and drawing himself completely out of bed he began to feel for his slippers. Suddenly he looked up with a jerk.
Toby was still staring at him thoughtfully.
“He found his own son drunk?”
“Yes.”
“And nobody else?”
“Apparently not,” said Mr Seymour. He stood up. “Nicholson,” he demanded, “who is this boy? And,” he added, “how on earth did you get into this house?”
“His name is Carr,” said Toby. “And I came in via the window. I crawled up the wall.”
Mr Seymour approached the window, looked at it incredulously, then opened the lower half and peered out.
“It is a nasty drop,” he declared.
Toby moved to the window and stood beside him.