Adders on the Heath

Campden-Towne. They ceased talking as soon as he arrived to say good night. Laura gave him an apple, as it was always a major battle to get him to clean his teeth, and expressed surprise and pleasure when he informed her that he was going straight to bed.

'I've been listening to a lot more French than usual,' he explained, 'and it's made my brain rather tired.'

'He's up to something,' said Laura, as soon as he had gone. 'I'm going up to his room to make sure he goes to bed.'

'I thought you had a gentlemen's agreement with him not to do that,' said Gavin. Laura snorted, but when the others went into the drawing-room she accompanied them, although she cast a speculative look at the staircase on the way.

Hamish, having gained his room, switched on the light and picked up the carving knife. With some difficulty, and having to employ a slightly saw-like movement, he managed to cut the ball of his thumb and draw a spot or two of blood. Satisfied, he put down the knife on his bedside table, undressed, sat on the bed to eat his apple and then lay down, leaving the light on. For a year or more he had trained himself to wake at a given time, mostly in order to go swimming or riding at dawn, a practice which had always received encouragement from his mother.

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 Celestine, 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 Celestine 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 Celestine 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.