“Whatever you do, don’t make a sound,” Peter warned him.
Uncle Waffles replied disgustedly, “It isn’t empty. The water’s up to me ankles.”
Peter had hoped to get out of the stable before the search began; it would look suspicious if they should find him. It was too late for that. The voices were near enough for him to hear what was being said.
“Nothin’ ‘ere, me gal. You must ‘ave h’imagined it.”
“I didn’t imagine it, neither. And don’t call me ‘me gal’ as though h’I was nothin’ to yer.”
“I calls you ‘me gal’ in me h’official capacity.”
“I don’t care abart yer capacity, h’official or defficial, I won’t ‘ave it.”
“My, but yer crusty, Grice!”
“H’I am crusty and h’I tell yer for wot. Yer doubt my word—throw h’aspersions on it. I did see a light, I tell yer.”
“Well, it ain’t there now. The chap’s gone.”