At any moment the story of his crimes might be laid before his father. As cook opened and shut the larder door, he caught sight of a large pie, with brown, crisp-looking pastry, upon the top shelf. That surely would pay off the blackmailing ex-secretaries of the Secret Society of Vengeance.
Quickly William formed his plans. To go to the larder by the kitchen door was impossible. But, somehow, or other, he must get that pie. He went out of the front door and crept round the house to the larder window. It was unlatched. He opened it quietly and climbed in. Holding his breath in suspense, his fierce and scowling gaze fixed upon the door that led to the kitchen, he took the pie and silently climbed out again. There was exultation in his heart. The end was in sight. But he reckoned without Cæsar.
Cæsar was a boarhound belonging to Mr. Beal, who accompanied his master on all his social calls, and waited outside the front door for him. On this occasion he seemed to be labouring under the delusion that William was kindly bringing some refreshment for him to beguile his long evening.
He advanced to meet William with tail wagging, and nose eagerly sniffing the delicious perfume of veal and ham pie. His whole bearing expressed anticipation and gratitude.
William said "Down!" in a fierce whisper, and held his precious pie high above his head. Cæsar pranced along by his side, his eyes uplifted towards the heavenly smell. William had planned to creep through a shrubbery to the side gate, but it is difficult to creep through a shrubbery holding a heavy pie above one's head in close company with an enormous dog, whose energies are wholly concentrated on obtaining possession of the pie. William managed the situation for some time. He said "Down!" often, and fiercely, and struggled on bravely, dragging the pie aloft through laurel and holly bushes. But Cæsar felt at last that he had been trifled with long enough.
He rose on two legs, placed his paws on William's shoulders, impelled him gently to the ground, and plunged his nose into his delicious supper. William sat up, rubbed a bruised elbow and looked around. Cæsar's appetite and capacity were unlimited. Half the pie had disappeared already, and the rest was fast disappearing.
"Crumbs!" said William, remembering the title of a book he had read lately, "Talk about 'Dogged by Fate'!"
With that thought came the thought of the hero of the book, Dick the Dauntless. He'd have thought nothing of a thing like that. He'd have thought nothing of taking on Sam and Albert and Leopold all together and licking them. He'd have just walked up to them and let them see that they'd jolly well better leave him alone in future. He'd have just laughed at that dog eating up all the pie. William promptly uttered a harsh sound and Cæsar cocked an ear and looked up apologetically. William was not a romancist for nothing. He had ceased to be William. Dick the Dauntless swaggered down the path to the gate with a dark scowl on his face.
Sam peered through the dusk.
"Well," he said, eagerly. "What 'vyou got?"