Mr. Strange rose wildly.
"But——" he began.
The curious sounds increased. They were real, not a delusion of his overwrought nerves, as he had supposed. William was real too.
"Where——?" he said still more wildly.
"In the coal-shed," said William impatiently. "Hurry up or he'll be gettin' tired an' stoppin'. Take some paper an' then you can copy down some of the things he says in reel life. I told you I was right."
There came a sudden crashing and rending of wood, the sound of angry steps on the gravel, and in front of the house appeared a nightmare figure, black, gesticulating, ragged, collarless, hatless. It was the eminently respectable Mr. Porter. "Police," and "pay for this," and "scoundrel," were among the words that reached the bewildered Mr. Strange through the window. Then, shaking its fist, the figure disappeared into the dusk.
"There," said William. "You're too late. He's got out. He's broke the door down an' got out. Anyway, you know now wot he does in reel life. He breaks the door down an' gets out. An' I can remember lots of the things he said. I listened quite a long time. I'll take another piece of that cake now, if you don't mind. You said I could. Thanks awfully. I took a lot of trouble gettin' that reel life thing for you. Could—could I keep that penknife jus' for another day? I've got some frens I'd like to show it to. An' if there's anything else you'd like me to find out in reel life, I'll try. I don't bother with reel life myself when I do tales, but if you.... Oh, I say, are you goin' on with the tale now?"
Mr. Strange was not. He was writing a telegram form. It ran:
"Secure berth on any boat sailing anywhere. Complete nervous prostration. Change and rest urgent."
"I 'speck I'd better go," said William regretfully. "It's after my supper time. You don't mind, do you?"