"I must have a look," said Kilbride, his excitement fed by his reviving vanity.
The other questioned whether it were worth while. This settled the Sub-Inspector.
"There may be something to show where he's gone," that casuist suggested, "for I don't believe he's anywhere here."
"Shall I hold the shooters, sir?"
"Thanks; and keep your eyes open, just in case. But it's my opinion that the bird's flown somewhere else, and it's for us to find out where."
Kilbride then crept into the gunyah upon his hands and knees, and found it less dark than he had supposed, the light filtering freely through the leaves and branches. At the inner extremity he found a mildewed blanket, and the place where the musical-box had evidently lain a long time; but there, though he delved to the elbows in the loosened earth, his discoveries ended. Puzzled and annoyed, Kilbride was on the verge of cursing his subordinate, when all at once he was given fresh cause. The musical-box had burst into selections from The Pirates of Penzance.
"What the deuce are you at?" shouted the irate officer.
"Only seeing how it goes."
"Stop it at once, you fool! He may hear it!"
"You said the bird had flown."