By way of getting through it, I began a tour of the grounds, taking care to keep away from the first-floor windows where any noise might awaken the Gin. Noises that occur outside visiting hours are considered by the Gin to be the calling card of burglars and any person or persons who chance to be the cause of the noise will come to regret it.
At length, I came to the spot in the garden below Wonder's bedroom window and I sat down among the roses to review my position and assess my chances of ever seeing the girl I love again. That Fate was up and about seeking those whom she may devour was made apparent in the next few minutes when Poopsie appeared in the window and immediately disappeared like something in a cuckoo clock. She had not seen the Genome. But the Genomes are quick thinkers, something I may have mentioned before, and I marked the spot where she appeared and went off in search of a ladder.
That my mind had turned to ladders will not be surprising to those familiar with the story of Romeo who would have done the same in my place. And if my father's analysis of Great-uncle Luther is correct, so would he have searched for ladders for he was a man who thought on his feet where the alternate sex was concerned. The first impulse of every lover on seeing the object of his adoration in an upper window is to climb up and join her. Simply natural.
One thing that can be placed on the credit side of the ledger for Chadsford Estates is that if you search for a ladder, you can generally find one and so I did. I found mine propped up against a tree where someone seemed to be doing some pruning. Had there been an innocent bystander, which there wasn't at this hour, the strength of my desire to be inside the house would have been most evident because, even though the ladder was no small burden, I made nothing of it. I might have been swinging an ivory-studded walking cane.
I placed the ladder against the wall and to shinny up the thing to Wonder's window was with me the work on an instant. Just as I was about to rap the secret code on the pane to bring her to my rescue, my attention was diverted by the sound of my next-door neighbor's voice. It gave me quite a start. Gabriel's horn would not stir me more. When I got my heart back in place, I descended the ladder and moved toward the sound of the squawking.
Truth, it is said, is stranger than fiction and today I readily admit to subscribing to the notion. Who would expect neighbors, no matter how close-by, to be pruning trees before 6:00 in the morning?