Henry moved nearer the window, prepared for instant flight if the voice’s owner should follow it up the stairs.
“Go on,” he urged. “He’ll only come up for you.”
William slowly removed the barricade and descended the stairs. He had remembered to take off the crown and dressing gown, but his one-sided moustache still hung limply over his mouth.
His father was standing in the hall.
“What’s that horrible thing on your face?” he began.
“Whiskers,” answered William laconically.
His father accepted the explanation.
“Is it true,” he went on, “that you actually took your friends into your aunt’s room without permission and hung vulgar placards around it?”
William glanced up into his father’s face and suddenly took hope. Mr. Brown was no actor.
“Yes,” he admitted.