The Secret Adversary

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"It's that sour faced brute Conrad," he decided. "That's a fellow I
shall enjoy getting even with one of these days. This is just a bit of
spite on his part. I'm certain of it."

Further meditations induced in him the feeling that it would be
extremely pleasant to bring something down with a whack on Conrad's
egg-shaped head. Tommy stroked his own head tenderly, and gave himself
up to the pleasures of imagination. Finally a bright idea flashed
across his brain. Why not convert imagination into reality? Conrad
was undoubtedly the tenant of the house. The others, with the possible
exception of the bearded German, merely used it as a rendezvous.
Therefore, why not wait in ambush for Conrad behind the door, and when
he entered bring down a chair, or one of the decrepit pictures, smartly
on to his head. One would, of course, be careful not to hit too hard.
And then--and then, simply walk out! If he met anyone on the way down,
well----Tommy brightened at the thought of an encounter with his fists.
Such an affair was infinitely more in his line than the verbal encounter