“I’m sure he must be out,” said Miss Picksley. As unostentatiously as possible she peeped through the letter-box. (She was not quite certain whether this was really a ladylike proceeding.)
“’E ain’t aout, ’relse I should ’a seen ’im go aout.”
“His hat and coat are on the hall-stand, too.... Perhaps he’s ill.”
“Try again. Maybe he was in the garden and didn’t hear the first knocks.”
They tried again, but to no purpose. Eventually they went away in the direction of Cubitt Lane.
“Nine o’clock,” said Miss Picksley. “Surely nobody’ll be waiting in the schoolroom. I don’t think it’s much good going back.”
“Nor do I,” said Mr. Sly. “In fact, we might go for a walk....”
Miss Picksley did not object, so they strolled past the King’s Arms into the Forest and forgot all about Mr. Weston and his promised paper on William Shakespeare....
§ 8
On Saturday morning at half-past nine the rent-man came to No. 24, Kitchener Road to collect his weekly seven-and-sixpence. His customary treble knock begat no reply. Simultaneously he noticed the milk-can on the step. It was full, and the conclusion was that Mr. Weston was still in bed.