Even at this moment, as he sat up in
bed, blanched with terror, these miscreants might be putting his
treasure into their pockets. The thought of the Faberge cigarette case,
and the Louis XVI snuff box, and the Queen Anne toy-porringer which he
had inherited all these years, made even life seem cheap, for life
would be intolerable without them, and he sprang out of bed, groped for
his slippers, since until he had made a plan it was wiser not to shew a
light, and shuffled noiselessly towards the door.
Chapter SIX
The door-handle felt icy to fingers already frozen with fright, but he
stood firmly grasping it, ready to turn it noiselessly when he had
quite made up his mind what to do. The first expedient that suggested
itself with an overpowering sweetness of relief, was that of locking
his door, going back to bed again, and pretending that he had heard
nothing. But apart from the sheer cowardice of that, which he did not
mind so much, as nobody else would ever know his guilt, the thought of
the burglar going off quite unmolested with his property was
intolerable. Even if he could not summon up enough courage to get
downstairs with his life and a poker in his hand, he must at least give
them a good fright. They had frightened him, and so he would frighten
them. They should not have it all their own way, and if he decided not
to attack them (or him) single-handed, he could at least thump on the
floor, and call out "Burglars!" at the top of his voice, or shout
"Charles! Henry! Thomas!" as if summoning a bevy of stalwart footmen.
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