In one case a negro butler had been struck
over the head with a gas-pipe and given a headache. In these
circumstances, it was unpleasant to find burly strangers looking
in at windows.
'Hi!' cried Mr Pickering.
The intruder leaped a foot. It had not occurred to Lord Dawlish,
when in an access of wistful yearning he had decided to sneak up
to the house in order to increase his anguish by one last glimpse
of Claire, that other members of the household might be out in the
grounds. He was just thinking sorrowfully, as he listened to the
music, how like his own position was to that of the hero of
Tennyson's _Maud_--a poem to which he was greatly addicted,
when Mr Pickering's 'Hi!' came out of nowhere and hit him like a
torpedo.
He turned in agitation. Mr Pickering having prudently elected to
stay in the shadows, there was no one to be seen. It was as if the
voice of conscience had shouted 'Hi!' at him. He was just
wondering if he had imagined the whole thing, when he perceived
the red glow of a cigar and beyond it a shadowy form.
It was not the fact that he was in an equivocal position, staring
into a house which did not belong to him, with his feet on
somebody else's private soil, that caused Bill to act as he did.
It was the fact that at that moment he was not feeling equal to
conversation with anybody on any subject whatsoever.
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