In another moment the outer door slammed upon her. “Good riddance!” said Mr. Polly.
He turned about. “I’ve had my whack,” he said.
He reflected. “I don’t see she’ll have any cause to holler,” he said. “Beastly Home! Beastly Life!”
For a space he remained thoughtful. “Here goes!” he said at last.
II
For twenty minutes Mr. Polly busied himself about the house, making his preparations very neatly and methodically.
He opened the attic windows in order to make sure of a good draught through the house, and drew down the blinds at the back and shut the kitchen door to conceal his arrangements from casual observation. At the end he would open the door on the yard and so make a clean clear draught right through the house. He hacked at, and wedged off, the tread of a stair. He cleared out the coals from under the staircase, and built a neat fire of firewood and paper there, he splashed about paraffine and arranged the lamps and can even as he had designed, and made a fine inflammable pile of things in the little parlour behind the shop. “Looks pretty arsonical,” he said as he surveyed it all. “Wouldn’t do to have a caller now. Now for the stairs!”
“Plenty of time,” he assured himself, and took the lamp which was to explain the whole affair, and went to the head of the staircase between the scullery and the
