"The darned thing's stuck."
"Yes, sir."
"How on earth did that happen?"
"I could not say, sir."
"How _can_ the door have stuck like this?" said Ann.
Somebody--I suppose it was me, though the voice didn't sound familiar--
spoke. "Perhaps there's a wedge under it," said this chappie.
"A wedge? What do you mean?"
"One of those little wedges you use to keep windows from rattling,
don't you know."
"But why----? You're absolutely right, Reggie, old man, there is!"
He yanked it out, and flung the door open, and out came Ponsonby,
looking like Lady Macbeth.
"I wish to give notice, sir," he said, "and I should esteem it a favor
if I might go to the pantry and procure some food, as I am extremely
hungry."
And he passed from our midst, with Hilda after him, saying: "But,
Ponsonby! Be reasonable, Ponsonby!"
Ann Selby turned on me with a swish. "Reggie," she said, "did _you_
shut Ponsonby in there?"
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I did."
"But why?" asked Harold.
"Well, to be absolutely frank, old top, I thought it was you."
"You thought it was me? But why--what did you want to lock me in for?"
I hesitated. It was a delicate business telling him the idea. And while
I was hesitating, Ann jumped in.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176