Then I caught a glimpse of Heatheringham over a hundred yards south of the House. He seemed to be waving me on, and I assumed that I must be a little behind my schedule. Without a glance into any of the windows I obediently rounded the library tower, entered the half-opened door, not omitting to ring, since I had done so on the previous occasion. The footman answered the bell with what would have been appalling suddenness had I not known he had been waiting for me. He received my instructions for hot water with the same obeisance and the same perfunctory words in the identical tone as before. I climbed the empty House to my room.
I was in a quandary, for it would do no manner of good to take off my coat and repeat the little battle with myself whose result had been a wounded finger. I certainly wouldn’t subject my digit to the safety-razor’s mercies a second time. But for the sake of keeping in the rhythm of the other day I might perform some of the milder motions. First I must go out to the balcony, where I had picked up the odd little scrap of rope.
I pressed through the window and, standing on the roof outside, saw the forms of people anticking about the tower and heard the rasp of the winch. Someone was on the lawn a little distance beyond the walk that skirts the House—Heatheringham himself.
“Hello!” I called aloud in the high wind. “Everything working smoothly?”
He must have seen me before, for he answered quickly, cupping his hands. “Yes, I think they’re all in their places. You did come out there the other day, didn’t you?”
“I did, and should go in again now if I keep in step.”
“Did you order that hot water?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“How did the servant behave?”
“Admirably; he didn’t turn a hair.”