“Par-par!” screamed the flaming head, travelling at immense speed down the passage. “Par-par! It ain't a hairship. It's a cat!”
“Par-par! Par-par! It's a cat!” The redheaded Pinner boy took the first short flight of stairs in a jump; rounded for the second.
George lunged over the banisters; gripped close in the flaming hair; held fast.
For a full minute in silence they poised--red-headed Pinner boy, on tip-toe as much as possible to ease the pain, in acute agony and great fear; George wildly seeking the plan that must be followed when he should release this fateful head.
Presently, with a backward pull that most horribly twisted the red-headed face: “If you speak a word I'll pull your head off,” George said. “Come up here.”
The pitiful procession reached the sitting-room. “Sit down there,” George commanded. “If you make a sound I shall probably cut your head clean off. What do you mean by hiding in my room?”
Between gusty pain and terror: “I thought it was a hairship.”
“Oh!” George paced the room. What did the vile boy think now? “Oh, well, what do you think it is now?”
“I believe it's the cat wot's in the piper.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Yes, this was a very horrible position indeed. “Oh, you do, do you? Now, you listen to me, my lad: unless you want your head cut right off you sit still without a sound.”
The red-headed Pinner boy sat quite still; wept softly. Life, at the moment, was a bitter affair for this boy.
George paced. The hideous nightmares of the morning had returned now--snorting, neighing, trampling iron-shod; stampeding in hideous irresistible rushes. This was the beginning of the end. He was discovered--his' secret out.
Flight--immediate flight--that was the essential course. Par-par, thanks to sweet heaven, was at a chapel meeting. The thing could be done. A timetable upon the mantelpiece told him that a down-train left the station at 8.35. It was now eight. Better a down-train than an up. The further from London the less chance of this infernal _Daily_ with its Country House Outrage. Examining the time-table he determined upon Temple Colney--an hour's run. He had been there once with Bill.
But what of this infernal red-headed Pinner boy? In agony wrestling with the question, George every way ran into the brick wall fact that there was no method of stopping the vile boy's mouth. The red head must be left behind to shriek its discovery to par-par. All that could be done was to delay that shriek as long as possible.