"Right," I said. "Peter's part is important, but is played off—in the wings, as it were."
My interview with Peter was not a long one.
"Now look here, old pal," I said at the close, "quarter to exactly, in the bathroom."
"Right-o! Daddy." Peter (ætat. 9) has a wrist-watch already and winds it regularly, so I knew he wouldn't fail me.
At a quarter to five I was talking to Mrs. Padbury, the Rector's wife, about the doings of the various Armies in the field. I was sitting in such a position that, while seeming to attend only to her, I could keep an eye on the drawing-room clock behind her. Every detail of my scheme had been carefully arranged; it now only remained for the actors to play their ...
Crash!
"Bless my soul," I said, "that sounds remarkably like the Worcester tea-set," and looking at the clock again I knew that Peter had made the "loud noise off", at the exact moment. "Good lad," I said to myself.
"Great heavens!" said Alison.
I was delighted. I had been more afraid of Alison's getting stage fright than of anything else, and there she was playing her part like a veteran actress. Things were going really splendidly.
It was at this precise moment that the grandfather clock in the kitchen gave out the first stroke of five, and at the same moment Jessie entered bearing a tray, on which were the five drawing-room tea-cups which were intact, the single ditto with a piece out, two breakfast cups and two odd ones.