His study was on the first floor. A high garden-seat stood directly
beneath the window and acted as a convenient ladder. It was easy to
get from this on to the window-ledge. Once there he could open the
window, and the rest would be plain sailing.
Unhappily, there was one flaw in his scheme. He had conceived that
scheme in the expectation that the window would be as he had left it.
But it was not.
During his absence somebody had shot the bolt. And, try his hardest,
he could not move the sash an inch.
XVII
FENN HUNTS FOR HIMSELF
Nobody knows for certain the feelings of the camel when his proprietor
placed that last straw on his back. The incident happened so long ago.
If it had occurred in modern times, he would probably have contributed
a first-hand report to the _Daily Mail._ But it is very likely
that he felt on that occasion exactly as Fenn felt when, after a night
of unparalleled misadventure, he found that somebody had cut off his
retreat by latching the window. After a gruelling race Fate had just
beaten him on the tape.
There was no doubt about its being latched. The sash had not merely
stuck. He put all he knew into the effort to raise it, but without a
hint of success. After three attempts he climbed down again and,
sitting on the garden-seat, began to review his position.
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