Later that evening, Hilda was possessed by an overwhelming desire to see what her brother had been up to at his end of the garden. She knew all about the complete gnome family, of course, because she had seen the box in which they had been delivered. But beyond that it was all guesswork. Ever since they had been children together they had respected each other’s territory, and it had never occurred to her to trespass and find out.
Then she remembered the upstairs boxroom. It was a cold, little-used apartment full of discarded treasures and forgotten joys. It was here that she had rummaged through Cyril’s old trunk in search of the admiral’s hat for Little Nelson. And, as she climbed up the last steep flight of stairs she remembered how, long ago, she had thought of the boxroom as the perfect hiding place if the Police had begun combing the house in search of refugees and gnome third columnists. The window was high and narrow, practically a dormer window. The view from it, however, was excellent. It commanded the whole garden.
It was already dusk but a full moon, rising over the Gothic profile of her brother’s church, lit up the farthest corner. She could see everything. There before her lay the pale lozenge of the artificial pool, the circle of surrounding figures, the sharp shadow of the raised fishing rod and, right up close beside the water, the vulgar, hated figure of Little Nelson’s successor.
Then, suddenly, she could see no more. The moon, up to now plunging happily along amid a sea of scudding clouds, had suddenly become totally eclipsed. And this was doubly frustrating because, just as the light failed, Hilda had thought that she had seen another gnome-size figure half-shrouded among the bushes.
The light flickered. At one moment Hilda felt certain that she could see someone – something – lurking there among the undergrowth; and, at the next, it was all darkness and confusion. Then she could see again. And there, sure enough, was a fifth figure clearly outlined against the foliage. But it was a different kind of figure. The body was transparent and she could see right through it. A foot or two behind, the flowers of the syringa showed up, sweet and profuse, mingling with the green and scarlet of the costume.
Hilda peered harder, narrowing her eyes as she did so.
‘It’s another of them,’ she told herself. ‘No doubt about it. It’s another gnome all right. But he didn’t come with the set. He doesn’t belong there.’
The figure turned for a moment, and Hilda stood quite still. Now that he was facing her she could see that the intruder had his right sleeve pinned closely across his chest. It was a flat, empty sleeve, neatly folded where the elbow should have been.
‘It’s … it’s …’ she began to say aloud.
She was shaking all over with excitement by now.
Then the clouds covered up the moon again, and she could see nothing. Even getting up on an old footstool and pressing her face right against the window pane did not help. The garden was in darkness. But it seemed to her that there was a movement of some kind just beside the pool, a furtive slithering kind of movement. Not that she could be sure. Then – and there could be no mistake about this – she heard a loud splash and a long, triumphant whistle.
And while she remained there, perched unsteadily on the old footstool, the moon came out again. The gnome that Cyril had bought her, the one with the offending ears, was no longer to be seen. There was merely a circle on the surface of the pool just where he had been standing. Another gnome had now taken up his place and this one, all on his own among his motionless companions, was dancing a slow, solemn jig.
When he stopped, he stood looking up at the house once more. His head was cocked over to one side as he always held it when thinking about something, and Hilda felt sure that he must be making plans.
She climbed off the footstool and made her way hurriedly downstairs. She was remembering that first time when Little Nelson had come home. And in case anything of the sort should come into his mind again, she decided that she would leave the front door just the least bit ajar.
And her own bedroom door, too, of course.