“How do you know there are not?” I said.
“Oh hang it, what d’you mean? Why we’ve swum here often enough, haven’t we?”
“Not very. Still—it’s jolly deep you know. There may be underground tunnels, connecting it with anywhere?”
“Oh hang it. I never thought of that. What a chap you are for putting one off a thing, Glanton.”
“I never said there were, mind. I only suggested the possibility.”
He raised himself on one elbow, and his then occupation—shying stones at every mud-turtle that showed an unwary head—was suspended.
“By Jove! Are there any holes like this round Hensley’s place?” he said earnestly.
“Not any,” I answered. “This one is unique; hence its curiosity.”
“Because, if there were, that might account for where the old chap’s got to. Underground tunnels! I never thought of that, by Jove. What d’you think of that, Edith? Supposing you were having a quiet swim here, and some jolly croc grabbed you by the leg and lugged you into one of those underground tunnels Glanton says there are. Eh?” grinned Falkner, who was fond of teasing his cousins.
“I wouldn’t be having a quiet swim in it, for one thing. I think it’s a horrid place,” answered the girl, while I for my part, mildly disclaimed having made any such statement as that which he had attributed to me.