The Three Taps by Ronald A. Knox — Read

Bredon had undoubtedly secured the best occupation for the evening. For two whole days he had missed the feeling of cards between his hands, and now he returned with a great hunger to his favourite pastime. True, the circumstances were not ideal. It was thoughtless of Leyland to have insisted on his sitting so close to the window; there was, fortunately, a window-seat, but not generous enough in its proportions to secure a convenient layout of the cards. The rows, instead of lying flat, had to climb over downs and gullies in the faded chintz; the result was an occasional avalanche, and a corresponding loss of temper. In an ideal world, Bredon reflected, you would have a large building like a racquet-court to play patience in, and you would wheel yourself up and down between the rows in an invalid's chair.

There was a soft rustle at the door, and Angela came in. "Oo, I've been feeling so nice and stealthy," she said. "Mr. Eames and I crept back down the lane like burglars. It was better than a cinema, I can tell you! We dodged round the privet-hedge, and came in through the back of Mrs. Davis's kitchen. And I thought the back stairs would never stop creaking. Did you hear me coming up?"