“Then you and Simpson can get the dinghy out and tow,” I suggested.  “I’ll coach from the Armadillo.”

“We might go for a long bicycle ride,” said Myra; “or call on the Vicarage girls.”

“There isn’t really very much to do, is there?” said Dahlia, gently.  “I’m sorry.”

Simpson leapt excitedly into the breach.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do—­I’ll teach you all the different knots and things.  I learnt them coming down in the train.  Everybody ought to know them.  Archie, old man, can you let me have a piece of rope?”

“Certainly.  Take any piece you like.  Only spare the main-sheet.”

Simpson went forward to consult Joe, and came back with enough to hang himself with.  He sat down opposite to us, wrapped the rope once round his waist, and then beamed at us over his spectacles.

“Now supposing you had fallen down a well,” he began, “and I let this rope down to you, what would you do with your end?”

We thought deeply for a moment.

“I should wait until you were looking over the edge, and then give it a sharp jerk,” said Archie.

“One must have company in a well,” I agreed.

“They’re being silly again,” apologized Myra.  “Tell me, Mr Simpson!  I should love to know—­I’m always falling down wells.”

“Well, you tie it round you like this.  Through there—­and over there—­and then back under there.  You see, it simply can’t slip.  Then I should pull you up.”

“But how nice of you.  Let me try. ...  Oh, yes, that’s easy.”

“Well, then there’s the hangman’s knot.”

Archie and I looked at each other.

“The predicaments in which Simpson finds himself are extraordinarily varied,” I said.

“One of these days he’ll be in a well, and we shall let down a rope to him, and he’ll hang himself by mistake.”

“That would look very determined.  On the other hand there must be annoying occasions when he starts out to strangle somebody and finds that he’s pulling him out of the cistern.”

“Why, how delightful, Mr Simpson,” said Myra.  “Do show us some more.”

“Those are the most important ones.  Then there are one or two fancy ones.  Do you know the Monkey’s Claw?”

“Don’t touch it,” said Archie solemnly.  “It’s poison.”

“Oh, I must show you that.”

Joe showed me the Monkey’s Claw afterwards, and it is a beautiful thing, but it was not a bit like Simpson’s.  Simpson must have started badly, and I think he used too much rope.  After about twenty minutes there was hardly any of him visible at all.

“Take your time, Houdini,” said Archie, “take your time.  Just let us know when you’re ready to be put into the safe, that’s all.”

“You would hardly think, to look at him now,” I said a minute later, “that one day he’ll be a dear little butterfly.”

“Where’s the sealing-wax, Maria?  You know, I’m certain he’ll never go for threepence.”