As was his practice, Sir Tancred, on his way to bed, looked in on
Tinker, and found him sleeping the profound sleep of youth and
innocence. But no sooner did he hear his father in bed and still, than
he rose from that profound sleep of youth and innocence, dressed, even
to his great-coat. He took a letter from his pocket, and put it
prominently on the dressing-table. It ran:
DEAR FATHER:
I have taken Bloomenroot to Parris in Herr Shlugst flyingmacheen.
Bring him to meet me at the Ifell Tower.
Your affectionate son
TINKER.
Then, with his boots in his hand, he stole across to the financier's
room. Thanks to the brandy, the financier looked very much wound up.
Tinker bade him write on a sheet of notepaper, "Don't call me till
eleven," pinned it on the outside of his bedroom door, locked it, and
took the key. He left the sitting-room door unlocked. Then he opened
the window, and, followed by his protege, who was already shivering
with dread, he stepped out on to the balcony with the air of the leader
of an army. The balcony ran round the hotel, as a way of escape during
a fire; it was broad, and since the night was starry, but fairly dark,
they were little likely to be seen from below by the detectives
watching the hotel doors.
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