I didn’t have to plot for long. Porky strikes again. Between two portraits of stuffy-looking old men was an open window, its iron bars ripped away in what could have been a frenzy of rage, but was most likely undiluted panic. I peered out, and saw that there was a drainpipe running down the wall less than a meter from the window. I laughed, delighted with my luck. I had expected this to be much harder. After sliding down the drainpipe with ease, I dropped the final four meters down into the garden at the side of the manor. Slipping through the crocus and gladiolus, I reached the wrought iron fence, quickly made a hole in it, then ducked through into the alley. Looking over my shoulder, I thought for a moment that I saw the terriers barking soundlessly behind a large window. Too late, little mongrels. I strolled down the rough cobbles, savoring my success a moment before jacking out.