"Step this way, please," she continued.
I caught the idea at once and, blessing the quick wit of woman, followed in the victim's wake, ready to close the secret panel behind him and leave him to a lingering death.
My wife slid open the trap, turning with a triumphant smile as she did so, and I saw at once that the death of anyone shut up inside would be a lot more lingering than I had imagined, for the place seemed full of jam. I was surprised.
"Can I be going to eat all that?" I thought; and life seemed suddenly a very beautiful thing.
The inspector ran a hungry eye over it all, and if he had tried to clamber inside for a closer inspection I should not have given him the quick push I had planned. I should have held him back by his coat. My own way of testing the amount of jam which my wife had made was not for the likes of him.
"About a hundred-and-fifty pounds," he said at last.
"Just a little over," nodded my wife.
"I tell you," I whispered, "this chap knows everything." Then aloud, "I say, Sir, if you wouldn't mind putting me on to something for the Cotsall Selling Plate. Simply," I added hastily, "in the national interest, of course. Keeping up the breed of horses."
The inspector changed the subject again. "You were allocated one hundredweight of sugar, I believe, Ma'am," he said.
"Oh, yes," replied my wife. "But you see some of our jam is still sticking to the trees. Perhaps this gentleman would like to see the orchard, Wenceslaus," she added, turning to me.