“Sneeze,” says the other man.
“Somebody’s around here—listening,” says the Knight. “It came from that way. Quick! After them.”
Off they went, tearing into the bushes, and we could hear Plunk and Tallow get up and flounder away. Mark was disgusted.
“Tallow,” says he, “ought to train his nose to be quiet, or sell it to a lighthouse for a foghorn. Now the fat’s in the f-f-fire.”
“They’ll never catch those kids,” says I.
“Not likely to,” says he, “but they’ll be on their guard now. They know somebody was listenin’—and if somebody was l-listenin’ it means somebody was suspicious of ’em.”
“Looks that way,” says I, “but what do we suspect ’em of?”
“I don’t know,” says he, “but it’s somethin’ to do with Mr. Wigglesworth and that kid.”
“Sure,” says I, “but let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s make tracks while they’re gone.”
“Can’t leave Plunk and Tallow,” says he. “Maybe they n-n-need help.”