Then he told the village policeman and the village policeman slapped his thigh and uttered a guffaw that sent Jumble flying down the road in panic.
After much silent cogitation William decided to approach the robber himself. He waylaid him on the road later in the day and said unctuously:
“Please, can I have my whistle back?”
The robber uttered a loud “ha!” and then said very firmly, “No! you cannot have your whistle back! On no account can you have your whistle back. You can never have your whistle back. Wild horses couldn’t make me give your whistle back. You may look upon that whistle, my boy, as lost to you for ever and likewise every other fiendish contrivance you use to drive away my sleep. Ha!”
With that he passed on still snorting.
William stood motionless in the road gazing after him. Well, he’d tried every lawful means. He’d appealed to his father who ought to have protected his own son from these outrages. He’d appealed to the strong arm of the law who should have taken drastic steps against such lawless extortion of property, he’d appealed to the criminal’s own better feelings—all to no avail.
The only thing that remained was to take matters into his own hands. For William felt that never could he hold up his head again while this blot upon his honour remained unavenged.
******
With no very clear plan of action in his mind, William progressed furtively up the drive of the big brown house. He had seen the old gentleman in the mauve suit drive down towards the station that morning in a cab with a suit-case, so that bold advance into the enemy’s country was less heroic than at first it sounds.
For safety’s sake William had left Jumble at home. Jumble was well meaning but could never understand the need for secrecy. Idly William thought that he’d train Jumble to be a police dog when he’d finished training him to be a sheep dog. He’d train him to hunt down robbers and bite them hard.