I always have a skiff during
the flood season, and as the water rose, I tied it to one spindle of
the staircase after another.
I made myself a cup of tea, and at one o'clock I stretched out on a
sofa for a few hours' sleep. I think I had been sleeping only an hour
or so, when some one touched me on the shoulder and I started up. It
was Mr. Reynolds, partly dressed.
"Some one has been in the house, Mrs. Pitman," he said. "They went
away just now in the boat."
"Perhaps it was Peter," I suggested. "That dog is always wandering
around at night."
"Not unless Peter can row a boat," said Mr. Reynolds dryly.
I got up, being already fully dressed, and taking the candle, we went
to the staircase. I noticed that it was a minute or so after two
o'clock as we left the room. The boat was gone, not untied, but cut
loose. The end of the rope was still fastened to the stair-rail. I sat
down on the stairs and looked at Mr. Reynolds.
"It's gone!" I said. "If the house catches fire, we'll have to drown."
"It's rather curious, when you consider it.
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