He thought he saw a chance of doing a profitable bit of business on his own account.
So, after an instant, he said quietly—
"Good flute worth more dan ten pounds; rale good blower like dat worth twenty at de bery least."
"Yes, yes; I'd give twenty willingly," murmured the wrapt Figgins.
"Bery good," said Bogey, as he instantly disappeared through the gate.
The orphan remained waiting without.
The "too-too-tooing" was going on in the usual doleful and melancholy manner, and guided by the sound, Bogey crept forward till he came in sight of the performer, who was seated in a snug nook in his garden playing away to his heart's content; or, as the negro supposed, endeavouring to frighten away the birds.
Bogey took stock of the stout player and his flute.
Creeping along the shrubbery till he had got exactly opposite to the flautist, he, in the midst of the too-too-tooing, uttered an unearthly groan.
"Inshallah!" exclaimed the Turk, stopping suddenly; "what was that?"