Sam did the first thing that occurred to him, which was to drop just where he was. Perhaps had he made a dash for the door he would have got safely away, but the advent of the stableman had startled him. Perkins had his gaze fixed on a corner of the ceiling.
There was an answering hail from upstairs and Sam seized the opportunity to creep into the shadow of the brougham that had come in and still stood in the middle of the floor.
“What time’s the master want the carriage?” asked Perkins.
“Three-thirty,” replied Billy from above. “I’ll take the sorrel, John.”
“All right.” Perkins walked to the door, humming a tune, and looked out. After a moment he draped the bridle over the back of the chair and seated himself again, rescuing his newspaper from the floor. Sam’s heart sank. Perkins had only to look in his direction to see him, for although his body was hidden by the carriage his legs showed beneath. Well, if Perkins came for him on one side he would run around the other. Once out of the stable, Sam believed himself a match for the stableman, although running in one’s stocking feet was no great fun.
It was the coachman’s voice, and he was evidently at his window.
“Hello!” answered Perkins. He left his chair and walked out on to the drive. Like a flash Sam pulled open the door of the brougham, tumbled himself in and softly closed it again. Huddled on the floor of the carriage, he raised his head until he could see from the window. Perkins was still standing outside talking up at Billy in the window. As the brougham was tightly closed Sam missed what was said. Finally, however, Perkins returned to his chair and his newspaper. There was a clock in the carriage and it said ten minutes to three! Even if he managed to get away he would miss most of the game, for it was a good mile and a half back to Maple Ridge. He wondered what Perkins would do were he to open the brougham door and make a run for it. Of course the stableman had not the least right in the world to stop him, but there was something in Perkins’s face that told Sam that Perkins wasn’t greatly concerned about the rights of the matter. In short, Perkins looked like a man who would do as he was told, no matter what the consequences. There was nothing for it but to stay where he was and await an opportunity to slip out undetected. The minutes passed laggingly. Perkins finished one page of his paper and turned to the next. It was very hot and stuffy inside the brougham, with a strong odor of leather and upholstery. If only Perkins would go upstairs to have a look for the prisoner! But Perkins apparently entertained no doubts as to Sam’s whereabouts, congratulating himself, doubtless, that the latter was causing so little trouble. Sam viewed the clock again. It was five minutes past three. He changed his cramped position, wishing he dared to curl himself up on the seat.
