Neither of them seemed to think that if the “alteration” they spoke of were to be accomplished at all they themselves would have to help to bring it about.
“I wonder what they’re doin’ about the venetian blinds?” said Easton. “Is there anyone doin’ em yet?”
“I don’t know; ain’t ’eard nothing about ’em since the boy took ’em to the shop.”
There was quite a mystery about these blinds. About a month ago they were taken to the paint-shop down at the yard to be repainted and re-harnessed, and since then nothing had been heard of them by the men working at the “Cave”.
“P’hap’s a couple of us will be sent there to do ’em next week,” remarked Harlow.
“P’hap’s so. Most likely they’ll ’ave to be done in a bloody ’urry at the last minute.”
Presently Harlow—who was very anxious to know what time it was—went downstairs to ask Slyme. It was twenty minutes to twelve.
From the window of the room where Slyme was papering, one could see into the front garden. Harlow paused a moment to watch Bundy and the labourers, who were still working in the trenches at the drains, and as he looked out he saw Hunter approaching the house. Harlow drew back hastily and returned to his work, and as he went he passed the word to the other men, warning them of the approach of Misery.
Hunter entered in his usual manner and, after crawling quietly about the house for about ten minutes, he went into the drawing room.
“I see you’re putting the finishing touches on at last,” he said.