CHAPTER V.

THE MISSING KEY,

  
 

LTHOUGH my tongue was silent at

es breakfast, my brain has been busy,

joy and I have arranged a bold plan
“ca which (though I tremble at the
thought of it) must be carried out. “In
for a penny, in for a pound,” I think, as,
looking round cautiously first, I take a
knife from my pocket and hastily cut some
of the strings which bind one of our finest
pear-trees to the wall. Down drops a heavy
branch, not broken as yet, though it most
assuredly will be if it is left long.

Returning the knife to my pocket, I rush
blindly into the front garden towards the
hot-houses.

I am only just in time, for Williams is