"And that wicked girl went to the grocer's and stayed there the whole afternoon—it's that young man they've got now—it's always the young men, my dear—that's the worst of girls—and she left the house entirely unguarded, my dear—didn't even lock the door—and I came back and—yes, my dear, all the silver gone from the dining-room—some thief had been in and—oh, yes, I've telephoned the police—and good gracious, the wretch has even taken the table-cloth we had hanging up in the back garden! Did you ever?"
"Have you—have you looked in the summer-house? He may be hiding there."
William grew hot and cold, and took up his position immediately behind the door.
"No, my dear and I'm not going to. I don't think it's fair to my friends and relations—I'm not thinking of myself. But—suppose he were there. He's sure to have a revolver. I'd make a fine target for his revolver, silhouetted against the light."
"Y-yes. But couldn't we get pokers and dash in and stun him before he's time to move?"
William, pressing himself and his table-cloth tightly into the corner behind the door, was aware of a curious sinking feeling in his inside. Some people, he decided, hadn't any hearts at all.
"I don't think so—we might so easily kill him by mistake."
"Well, then, at any rate we can lock the door and keep him there till the police come."
A cold perspiration broke out over William.
"The lock won't work. Do you know, my dear, I'd rather go further away just in case there is anyone there. Suppose we go indoors?"