“I have, as it happens,” said the old gentleman excitedly, “by a curious chance, one came into my possession the other day—but it’s in my bedroom. How am I to get at it?”
“Where’s your bedroom?” said William shortly.
“Just above us. The window, I see, is open.”
“Where’s the whistle?” said William trying not to sound too eager.
“In the right-hand small drawer in my dressing-table. What are you doing?”
For William with a speed and agility worthy of one of his remotest forbears was shinning up the tree, and swinging himself from the tree to the window sill of the room just above. He disappeared into the room. Soon he reappeared, swung himself on to the tree and came back as quickly as he had gone.
In his hand he held his beloved long-lost whistle.
“Brave boy!” said the old gentleman fervently, “now go down to the road and blow three times.”
William crept away into the darkness with the whistle. He could not refrain from chuckling as he reached the road. The old gentleman waited and waited, but no blast came from the darkness into which William had disappeared.
William was creeping back. He knew that it was a dangerous proceeding, but curiosity triumphed over caution. He wanted to know what had happened to the old gentleman and the brutal communist commander and—everyone. Cautiously he approached the library window. The old gentleman was sitting in his chair and the brutal communist, the prisoner and a lot more people were sitting on other chairs and on the floor drinking lemonade and eating sandwiches. Some one had opened the window and William could hear what they were saying. The three girls and Freddie were there.