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Page 81
"I'm going round to the front of the house. You get back to your
tree and watch, in case Cayley comes again. Your bedroom is the
left-hand end one, and Cayley's the end but one? Is that right?"
Bill nodded.
"Right. Wait in hiding till I come back. I don't know how long
I shall be, but don't be impatient. It will seem longer than it
is." He patted Bill on the shoulder, and with a smile and a nod
of the head he left him there.
What was in the bag? What could Cayley want to hide other than a
key or a revolver? Keys and revolvers sink of themselves; no
need to put them in a bag first. What was in the bag? Something
which wouldn't sink of itself; something which needed to be
helped with stones before it would hide itself safely in the mud.
Well, they would find that out. There was no object in worrying
about it now. Bill had a dirty night's work in front of him.
But where was the body which Antony had expected so confidently
or, if there were no body, where was Mark?
More immediately, however, where was Cayley? As quickly as he
could Antony had got to the front of the house and was now lying
in the shrubbery which bordered the lawn, waiting for the light
to go up in Cayley's window. If it went up in Bill's window,
then they were discovered. It would mean that Cayley had glanced
into Bill's room, had been suspicious of the dummy figure in the
bed, and had turned up the light to make sure. After that, it
was war between them. But if it went up in Cayley's room--
There was a light. Antony felt a sudden thrill of excitement.
It was in Bill's room. War!
The light stayed there, shining vividly, for a wind had come up,
blowing the moon behind a cloud, and casting a shadow over the
rest of the house. Bill had left his curtains undrawn. It was
careless of him; the first stupid thing he had done, but--
The moon slipped out again .... and Antony laughed to himself in
the bushes. There was another window beyond Cayley's, and there
was no light in it. The declaration of war was postponed.
Antony lay there, watching Cayley into bed. After all it was
only polite to return Cayley's own solicitude earlier in the
night. Politeness demanded that one should not disport oneself on
the pond until one's friends were comfortably tucked up.
Meanwhile Bill was getting tired of waiting. His chief fear was
that he might spoil everything by forgetting the number "six."
It was the sixth post. Six. He broke off a twig and divided it
into six pieces. These he arranged on the ground in front of
him. Six. He looked at the pond, counted up to the sixth post,
and murmured "six" to himself again. Then he looked down at his
twigs. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. Seven! Was it seven?
Or was that seventh bit of a twig an accidental bit which had
been on the ground anyhow? Surely it was six! Had he said "six"
to Antony? If so, Antony would remember, and it was all right.
Six. He threw away the seventh twig and collected the other six
together. Perhaps they would be safer in his pocket. Six. The
height of a tall man--well, his own height. Six feet. Yes, that
was the way to remember it. Feeling a little safer on the point,
he began to wonder about the bag, and what Antony would say to
it, and the possible depth of the water and of the mud at the
bottom; and was still so wondering, and saying, "Good Lord, what
a life!" to himself, when Antony reappeared.
Bill got up and came down the slope to meet him.
"Six," he said firmly. "Sixth post from the end."
"Good," smiled Antony. "Mine was the eighteenth--a little way
past it."
"What did you go off for?"
"To see Cayley into bed."
"Is it all right?"
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