“We must get our own back somehow, you know, Fred,” he said.
Harlow did not reply. He did not understand. After puzzling over it for a few minutes, he gave it up.
“What’s the time?” he asked.
“Fifteen minutes to twelve,” said Slyme and added, as Harlow was going away: “Don’t mention anything about that paper to Crass or any of the others.”
“I shan’t say nothing,” replied Harlow.
Gradually, as he pondered over it, Harlow began to comprehend the meaning of the destruction of the two rolls of paper. Slyme was doing the paperhanging piecework—so much for each roll hung. Four of the rooms upstairs had been done with the same pattern, and Hunter—who was not over-skilful in such matters—had evidently sent more paper than was necessary. By getting rid of these two rolls, Slyme would be able to make it appear that he had hung two rolls more than was really the case. He had broken the rolls so as to be able to take them away from the house without being detected, and he had hidden them up the chimney until he got an opportunity of so doing. Harlow had just arrived at this solution of the problem when, hearing the lower flight of stairs creaking, he peeped over and observed Misery crawling up. He had come to see if anyone had stopped work before the proper time. Passing the two workmen without speaking, he ascended to the next floor, and entered the room where Slyme was.
“You’d better not do this room yet,” said Hunter. “There’s to be a new grate and mantelpiece put in.”
He crossed over to the fireplace and stood looking at it thoughtfully for a few minutes.
“It’s not a bad little grate, you know, is it?” he remarked. “We’ll be able to use it somewhere or other.”
“Yes; it’s all right,” said Slyme, whose heart was beating like a steam-hammer.