Here, Emma, put these sandwiches in the larder. Here's the key! Now
mind you _lock it_ after you!"

"Cook! Just come here for a minute."

It was the voice of William's mother from the library. William's heart
rose. With cook away from the scene of action great things might
happen. Emma took the dish of sandwiches, unlocked the pantry door,
and entered. There was a crash of crockery from the back kitchen. Emma
fled out, leaving the door unlocked. After she had picked up several
broken plates, which had unaccountably slipped from the shelves, she
returned and locked the pantry door.

William, in the darkness within, heaved a sigh of relief. He was in,
anyway; how he was going to get out he wasn't quite sure. He stood for
a few minutes in rapt admiration of his own cleverness. He'd scored
off cook! Crumbs! He'd scored off cook! So far, at any rate. The first
thing to do was to find the cream blanc-mange. He found it at last and
sat down with it on the bread-pan to consider his next step.

Suddenly he became aware of two green eyes staring at him in the
darkness. The cat was in too! Crumbs! The cat was in too! The cat,
recognising its inveterate enemy, set up a vindictive wail. William
grew cold with fright. The rotten old cat was going to give the show
away!

"Here, Pussy! Good ole Pussy!" he whispered hoarsely. "Nice ole Pussy!
Good ole Pussy!"

The cat gazed at him in surprise. This form of address from William