Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March. Sheila decided to do a little laundry one day, clothes that were in Lucy’s hamper, a dirty clothes bin that Lucy had insisted that she have for herself separate from the family one. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. "Caught!" shouted the head-turnkey.
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