“Ho! do you!” he said. “And hare you aware as you’ve nearly broke our front-door bell?”
The echoes of the bell were just beginning to die away.
Rudolph of the Red Hand folded his arms and emitted a short, sharp laugh.
“His Lordship,” said the footman, preparing to close the door, “is hout.”
“His wife would do, then,” said Rudolph. “Jus’ tell her it’s a life an’ death matter.”
“Her Ladyship,” said the footman, “is hengaged, and hany more of your practical jokes ’ere, my lad, and you’ll hear of it.” He shut the door in William’s face.
William wandered round the house and looked in several of the windows; he had a lively encounter with a gardener, and finally, on peeping into the kitchen regions with a scornful laugh, was chased off the premises by the infuriated footman. Saddened, but not defeated, he returned across the fields to the barn and flung open the door. Ginger, panting and perspiring, was dragging the Lady Barbara in the packing-case round and round the barn by a piece of rope.
He turned a frowning face to William. A life of crime was proving less exciting than he had expected.
“Well, where’s the money?” he said, wiping his brow. “She’s jus’ about wore me out. She won’t let me stop draggin’ this thing about. An’ she keeps worryin’, sayin’ you promised her a swing.”
“He did!” said the kidnapped one shrilly.