On this occasion he proposed to allow himself to sleep until eleven, by which time he supposed, in his ignorance of their habits, his parents and Dame Beatrice would be in bed. Having banged his head eleven times on the pillow and muttered fiercely to his subconscious mind, 'And I mean tonight, not tomorrow morning,' he fell asleep. True to his own self-discipline, he woke at eleven, dressed, turned out the light and, shoes in hand, crept down the staircase.
From outside the drawing-room door he could hear his father's voice. So they were still up! What was more, they might emerge at any moment and discover him. He debated, but only for a few seconds, whether to go on, and chance having them hear the front door being opened and shut, or whether to retreat to his room and wait there until they had gone to bed. Unfortunately he had no idea when this was likely to be. They might stay up and talk for hours. The first of his preconceived ideas was obviously wrong. He had better carry on, all the same.
His mind made up, he turned the knob of the front door. He would chance matters. This was not easy. The devoted servants had locked and bolted the door and put the chain on. Bolts have to be noisily withdrawn, and chains are apt to rattle. There was one bright spot, however. If the house had been made secure, it was probable that the servants had gone to bed. This would mean that the side door and the kitchen door, both well away from the drawing-room, would be available to a person who wanted to leave the house unobserved and unheard.
Hamish turned from the front door and tiptoed down the hall. His assumption that the servants, at least, had been helpful and sensible enough to go to bed proved to be correct. He listened intently at the kitchen door, but there was no sound of any kind except for the loud ticking of the kitchen clock. He wasted no more time, but padded in his stockinged feet to the back door. It was not until he had pulled the door to and had put on his shoes, that he remembered the carving knife. He was bitterly regretful to have left it behind, but felt it would be madness to go back for it and risk being caught.
Then he remembered that there were bound to be knives in the kitchen. He had not latched the door; he had merely pulled it to; he did not stop to take off his shoes again, trusting, this time, that the kitchen, shut off, as it was, by a green-baize door, would prove sufficiently remote from the drawing-room for his footsteps to go unheard.
The kitchen, of course (he thought angrily), was in complete and utter darkness. He would have to switch on a light. He groped for it, and found it. Then he opened the table drawer. It did not contain a knife of any description, for Henri was much too jealous of his implements to leave them lying around in table drawers. Each was put lovingly away in its own velvet-covered, satin-lined, padded and quilted case. The only useful object (from the boy's point of view) which the drawer contained was a butcher's steel. Hamish, intent on his adventure, seized this and crept away again.
Half an hour later Célestine, who had changed her mind about Henri's guard-duty, preferring to have him guard her person rather than the house, with difficulty woke him. He was a very sound sleeper and preferred to have his eight hours undisturbed. He had to pay attention at last, however, for Célestine abandoned her attempts to shake him into wakefulness and, instead, bit him sharply on the lobe of the ear. Henri yelled and sat up.
'Be silent, idiot!' hissed his spouse. 'Those assassins are here!'
'Nonsense, my cabbage! You have been dreaming,' riposted Henri, tenderly caressing his ear.
'Keep your voice low! Tell me, did you or did you not turn off the light in the kitchen before you came to bed?'
'But certainly I turned it off.'
'Well, it is on again now. It is shining on the wall of the kitchen garden. Turn your head and look for yourself. Better still, go and look out of the window and assure yourself that what I say is true.'
Henri groaned, but, well aware that he would get no peace-and certainly no more sleep-until he had obeyed her, he climbed out of bed and went to the window. (The blinds in their bedroom were never drawn except when Célestine decided that the summer sunshine was too strong for the very pretty carpet which Dame Beatrice had given them.)
'It is very true,' said Henri. 'The light is on. But there is a simple explanation which you might have thought of for yourself instead of making a meal of my ear.'
'The explanation is obvious! Those assassins, I tell you, they are here!'
'The explanation is obvious, certainly. It is Madame Gavin. She is often hungry and she sleeps little. She knows that there is always something in my larder which she will like. No doubt she is refreshing herself at this moment. There is a cold raised pie and some bottles of beer. Now compose yourself and let me sleep.'
'You do not come back to this bed! Put on your trousers-those barbarous garments!-and take with you your axe and confront these criminals.'
Henri groaned again, but did as he was told. At least, he carried out instructions so far as pulling on his trousers and picking up his axe were concerned. What he did not do was to repair forthwith to the kitchen. He preferred to take the more prudent course of seeking reinforcements just in case his wife was right-although he did not think she was. He went to the door of the Gavins' room on the floor below, and knocked.
They had been upstairs for less than ten minutes and Laura was creaming her face.
'See who that is,' she said. Gavin went to the door and through the opening Henri could see Laura seated at the dressing-table. He gestured violently to Gavin and exclaimed,
'So my wife is right! I did well to come and see!'
'What on earth are you doing with that bloody great axe?' asked Gavin, eyeing the keen-edged weapon with amusement. 'Gone berserk or something?'
'Someone had turned on the light in the kitchen. I thought it was Madame Gavin, but I see not so.'
'Well, I was thinking of going down,' said Laura, applying a tissue to her well-creamed countenance, 'but I haven't so far. I expect you left the light on when you went to bed. It's easy enough. My brothers are always doing it.'
'I did not leave the light on, madame.'
'Oh, well, I'll pop down and have a look round,' said Gavin, pulling the belt of his dressing-gown a little closer. 'Could be burglars, I suppose. They're probably mopping up the bottled beer.'
'Arm yourself, monsieur! They may be desperate!'
'Then you'd better come along with that axe.'
'Willingly, monsieur.' With Gavin in the lead, they tip-toed down the stairs. The kitchen was empty.
'Then you must have left the light on,' said Gavin, reasonably enough. But Henri was obstinately certain that this was not so.
'Let us rouse the household, monsieur,' he urged. 'Of a certainty, someone has entered.'
'Oh, rot!' said Gavin easily. 'No need at all to panic. But we can have a look at the downstair doors and windows, if that will help.'
It took them less than two minutes to find out that the back door was not only unlocked and unbolted, but that it was not even latched.
'And now, monsieur,' said Henri, with dignity, 'you are not prepared to say, I hope, that, in addition to leaving the light on-an extravagance and a carelessness of which I have never been guilty during all my years in the service of madame-I neglected to lock and bolt this door? Monsieur, my honour is at stake. I must convince you. Allow me to arouse Georges. He knows that always-but always!-I lock and bolt this door as soon as he goes at night to his apartment above the garage.'