"Here's something or other," his voice cried thickly from within. "It's half buried. Wait a bit."
"As sharp as you can!"
"All right; but it's a box, and jolly heavy!"
Kilbride peered nervously to right, left, and centre; then his eyes fell upon his companion wriggling back into the open, a shallow, oblong box in his arms, its polish dimmed and dusted with the mould, as though they had violated a grave.
"Kick it open!" exclaimed Kilbride, excitedly.
But there was no need for that; the box was not even locked; and the lifted lid revealed an inner one of glass, protecting a brass cylinder with steel bristles in uneven growth, and a long line of lilliputian hammers.
"A musical-box!" said the staggered Sub-Inspector.
"That's it, sir. I remember hearing that he'd collared one on one of the stations he stuck up last time he was down here. It must have lain in the ground ever since. And it only shows how hard you must have pressed him, Mr. Kilbride!"
"Yes! I headed him back across the Murray—I soon had him out o' this!" rejoined the other in grim bravado. "Anything else in the gunyah?"
"All he took that trip, I fancy, if we dig a bit. You never gave him time to roll his swag!"