"Then open the front door."
Toory's great measured steps took him to the door. The latch fastenings clanked as he opened them, because his arms and hands were trembling. The heavy door swung wide, and bumped back against the stopper with a thump.
"I told you not to make a noise," Higgins murmured sharply.
Toory remembered. He always remembered the right response when he had done something wrong. "I am sorry," he said. "I did not mean to do anything wrong." He stood at the open doorway, trying to stop the quivering in his legs.
"You go first," Higgins whispered. "Take the garden path to the side gate. Start now."
With slow long strides Toory went out, and down the little steps. He could hear Higgins softly closing the door after them. Broken clouds floated overhead and the dim garden was faintly silvered with moonlight. The garden path was a little threading passage between the shrubs and flower-beds.
"Keep goin', Toory. You hear me?"
"Yes," Toory said. He could hear Higgins' breathing, close behind him. And back at the house, suddenly now there were faint sounds. As he turned back to stare he heard the click of the front door opening, and a familiar voice calling to him.
"Toory! Toory!" It was Babs! Very clear was the tapping of her cane as she felt her way out to the flagging outside the door.
Toory would have responded, even without direct-command. But instantly Higgins muttered, "Don't speak, Toory!"