William glared round wildly. There was a hen-house in the corner of the garden, and into this he dashed, tearing open the door and plunging through a mass of flying feathers and angry, disturbed hens.
William crouched in a corner of the dark hen-house determinedly clutching his bunch of syringa.
Distant voices were at first all he could hear. Then they came nearer, and he heard the fat lady’s voice loudly declaiming.
“He was quite a small man, but with such an evil face. I just had one glimpse of him as he dashed past me. I’m sure he’d have murdered me if I hadn’t cried for help. Oh, the coward! And a poor defenceless woman! He was standing by the silver table. I disturbed him at his work of crime. I feel so upset. I shan’t sleep for nights. I shall see his evil, murderous face. And a poor unarmed woman!”
“Can you give us no details, madam?” said a man’s voice. “Could you recognise him again?”
“Anywhere!” she said firmly. “Such a criminal face. You’ve no idea how upset I am. I might have been a lifeless corpse now, if I hadn’t had the courage to cry for help.”
“We’re measuring the footprints, madam. You say he went out by the front door?”
“I’m convinced he did. I’m convinced he’s hiding in the bushes by the gate. Such a low face. My nerves are absolutely jarred.”
“We’ll search the bushes again, madam,” said the other voice wearily, “but I expect he has escaped by now.”
“The brute!” said the fat lady. “Oh, the brute! And that face. If I hadn’t had the courage to cry out——”