Somers put the sack down on the path. The tall and lofty officer stooped and groped nobly among a pound of rice and a piece of soap and a dozen candles.
“Ha!” he cried, exultant. “What’s this? A camera!”
Richard peeped in the bag at the groping red military hands. For a moment he almost believed that a camera had spirited itself in among his few goods, the implication of his guilt was so powerful. He saw a block in brown paper.
“A penn’orth of salt,” he said quietly, though pale to the lips with anger and insult.
But the gentlemanly officer—a Captain—tore open the paper. Yes, a common block of salt. He pushed the bag aside.
“We have to be careful,” said the other, lesser man.
“Of course,” said Richard, tying up his bag.
“Good afternoon!” said Harriet.
The fellows half saluted, and turned hastening away. Richard and Harriet had the advantage of sauntering behind them and looking at their noble backs. Oh, they were gentlemen, true English gentlemen: perhaps Cornish.
Harriet gave a pouf of laughter.