cautiously, that it might be possible at the end of the month.
In February he said what a trying winter it had been for builders ('And for schoolmasters!' Peter had snarled), and he was truly surprised to find how much there still needed to be done. Perhaps, in early March...?
In the middle of that month, with the end of term in sight, Peter issued an ultimatum.
'We're moving during the Easter holidays, come hell or high-water,' he told Bellamy. 'My own house is sold, and the chap wants to move in. Put some dynamite behind old Fairbrother and his minions, or they'll find themselves having to work round us. They've got three weeks to finish.'
Bellamy Croft professed himself pained and astonished at such impatience, though, in truth, he met with it often enough with his clients. However, Peter's forbidding detention-for-you-boy look had some effect, and a slightly brisker pace of progress began at Tyler's Row.
Although there were cupboards still to be fitted, some topcoat painting to be done and the lavatory window was still missing, Peter and Diana pressed on with their preparations for the move, and named the day as the twentieth of April.
'The relief,' sighed Diana, 'at having something settled at last! Who was it kept saying his patience was exhausted, Peter?'
'Hitler.'
'Are you sure?' Diana sounded startled.
'Positive. His patience was exhausted just before he snapped up yet another country.'
'Well, I never expected to ally myself with that man, but at the moment I can sympathise with his feelings.'
Fairacre, of course, had watched the progress of conversion with unabated interest. The theft of the copper piping was attributed at once to Arthur Coggs, although no one had a shred of evidence to prove the charge. It was noted, however, that Mrs Coggs was unusually free with her money at the Christmas jumble sale, even going so far as to expend a shilling on a fur tippet, once the property of Mrs Partridge's mother. This, said some, proved that there was more money than usual in the Coggs' household and where had it come from? Funny, wasn't it, they said, that the copper piping had vanished only a few days earlier?
Others pointed out that any proceeds from the sale of the stolen goods would have been poured promptly down Arthur Coggs' throat in 'The Beetle and Wedge'. Mrs Coggs would have been the last person to receive any bounty from her husband.
Sergeant Burnaby enjoyed every minute of the builders' company, sitting in his old armchair in the garden and carrying on a non-stop conversation with anyone available. He had never had so much excitement and company before. Every day brought another enthralling episode in this living serial story, and he delighted in regaling Peter and Diana with a blow-by-blow account of all that went on between their visits.
Mrs Fowler, on the other hand, behaved with mouth-pursed decorum.
She knew, however, quite as much about the doings next door as did Sergeant Burnaby, and kept a watch upon the workmen as vigilant as his, but more discreet.
The schoolchildren were equally interested, shouting to the builders as they passed on the way to school, begging for pieces of putty, nails, strips of wood, pieces of wallpaper, broken tiles and anything else to be treasured.
Mrs Pringle and I were in rare unity in trying to discourage them from pillaging in this way, and from bringing their loot into the school. Well-worked putty leaves finger-prints on exercise and reading books, and the children's fingers were grubbier than ever with handling their newly-found possessions.
I tried to convey to them the fact that they were stealing, with small success.
'But they was going to be thrown out,' they told me. 'Them workmen said as these bits was rubbish.'
'And the putty?' I would persist remorselessly.
'Jest an odd bit, miss,' they would plead.
'Who do you think pays for the putty?'
'Don't know, miss.'
'Mr and Mrs Hale are paying for it. You are just as bad as the thief who took
In February he said what a trying winter it had been for builders ('And for schoolmasters!' Peter had snarled), and he was truly surprised to find how much there still needed to be done. Perhaps, in early March...?
In the middle of that month, with the end of term in sight, Peter issued an ultimatum.
'We're moving during the Easter holidays, come hell or high-water,' he told Bellamy. 'My own house is sold, and the chap wants to move in. Put some dynamite behind old Fairbrother and his minions, or they'll find themselves having to work round us. They've got three weeks to finish.'
Bellamy Croft professed himself pained and astonished at such impatience, though, in truth, he met with it often enough with his clients. However, Peter's forbidding detention-for-you-boy look had some effect, and a slightly brisker pace of progress began at Tyler's Row.
Although there were cupboards still to be fitted, some topcoat painting to be done and the lavatory window was still missing, Peter and Diana pressed on with their preparations for the move, and named the day as the twentieth of April.
'The relief,' sighed Diana, 'at having something settled at last! Who was it kept saying his patience was exhausted, Peter?'
'Hitler.'
'Are you sure?' Diana sounded startled.
'Positive. His patience was exhausted just before he snapped up yet another country.'
'Well, I never expected to ally myself with that man, but at the moment I can sympathise with his feelings.'
Fairacre, of course, had watched the progress of conversion with unabated interest. The theft of the copper piping was attributed at once to Arthur Coggs, although no one had a shred of evidence to prove the charge. It was noted, however, that Mrs Coggs was unusually free with her money at the Christmas jumble sale, even going so far as to expend a shilling on a fur tippet, once the property of Mrs Partridge's mother. This, said some, proved that there was more money than usual in the Coggs' household and where had it come from? Funny, wasn't it, they said, that the copper piping had vanished only a few days earlier?
Others pointed out that any proceeds from the sale of the stolen goods would have been poured promptly down Arthur Coggs' throat in 'The Beetle and Wedge'. Mrs Coggs would have been the last person to receive any bounty from her husband.
Sergeant Burnaby enjoyed every minute of the builders' company, sitting in his old armchair in the garden and carrying on a non-stop conversation with anyone available. He had never had so much excitement and company before. Every day brought another enthralling episode in this living serial story, and he delighted in regaling Peter and Diana with a blow-by-blow account of all that went on between their visits.
Mrs Fowler, on the other hand, behaved with mouth-pursed decorum.
She knew, however, quite as much about the doings next door as did Sergeant Burnaby, and kept a watch upon the workmen as vigilant as his, but more discreet.
The schoolchildren were equally interested, shouting to the builders as they passed on the way to school, begging for pieces of putty, nails, strips of wood, pieces of wallpaper, broken tiles and anything else to be treasured.
Mrs Pringle and I were in rare unity in trying to discourage them from pillaging in this way, and from bringing their loot into the school. Well-worked putty leaves finger-prints on exercise and reading books, and the children's fingers were grubbier than ever with handling their newly-found possessions.
I tried to convey to them the fact that they were stealing, with small success.
'But they was going to be thrown out,' they told me. 'Them workmen said as these bits was rubbish.'
'And the putty?' I would persist remorselessly.
'Jest an odd bit, miss,' they would plead.
'Who do you think pays for the putty?'
'Don't know, miss.'
'Mr and Mrs Hale are paying for it. You are just as bad as the thief who took
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