What it came to was that, if dear old Harold enjoyed meditating in
front of Amelia's portrait, he was jolly well going to have all the
meditating he wanted, and a bit over, for my simple scheme was to lurk
outside till he had gone into the little room on the top floor, and
then, with the aid of one of those jolly little wedges which you use to
keep windows from rattling, see to it that the old boy remained there
till they sent out search parties.
There wasn't a flaw in my reasoning. When Harold didn't roll in at the
sound of the dinner gong, Hilda would take it for granted that he was
doing an extra bit of meditating that night, and her pride would stop
her sending out a hurry call for him. As for Harold, when he found that
all was not well with the door, he would probably yell with
considerable vim. But it was odds against anyone hearing him. As for
me, you might think that I was going to suffer owing to the probable
postponement of dinner. Not so, but far otherwise, for on the night I
had selected for the coup I was dining out at the neighboring inn with
my old college chum Freddie Meadowes. It is true that Freddie wasn't
going to be within fifty miles of the place on that particular night,
but they weren't to know that.
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