"Charles," said he, "if after this night's work I die of bronchial catarrh, unzepp'd, unhonoured and unsung——"
"Good night, dear old thing," interposed Charles sweetly. "Run away and play, there's a good child; Uncle's tired."
He disappeared to bed.
An hour later he was awakened by a tremendous knocking at the front-door. Resolutely turning on to his other side, he tried to ignore it, but the fusillade continued and swelled. Only when it appeared likely to do permanent and irreparable damage to the building did he rush out on to the landing. There he met Kit, half awake, with his eyelids tightly gummed together.
"That ass Bill," he said peevishly. "Forgotten his latchkey most likely. Serve him right if we left him there!"
"My good man, one must sleep."
Charles ran downstairs, opened the door and indignantly confronted the glistening figure on the steps.
"It is my duty to warn you, Sir," said William's voice in an official but triumphant tone, "that one of your downstairs windows has been left open. Most dangerous. Also," he added quickly, "that I am authorised to use my truncheon in self-defence, and that anything you say may be used as evidence against you."