The Baron had only a few days left, and he wanted to make the most of them. Resistance to the angry child’s obstinacy, they both felt, was useless, so they resorted to the last and ignoble way out: flight, just to get away from his tyranny for an hour or two. “Take these letters to the post office, will you, and send them by registered mail,” Edgar’s mother told him. They were both standing in the hotel lobby while the Baron spoke to a cabby outside. Suspiciously, Edgar took the two letters. He had noticed a servant delivering some kind of message to his mother earlier. Were they hatching a plot against him after all? He hesitated. “Where will I find you?” “Here.” “Sure?” “Yes.” “Mind you don’t go away, though! You’ll wait for me here in the lobby until I get back, won’t you?” In his awareness of having the upper hand he spoke imperiously, as if giving his mother orders.
