He tried it gingerly and it gave a little.
"It's clogged, and you won't get it open," said Homo; "it's the wall or nothing."
Beale looked up and down the road. There was nobody in sight and he made a leap, caught the top of the wall and drew himself up. Luckily the usual chevaux de frise was absent. Beneath him and a little to the right was a shed built against the wall, the door of which was closed.
He signalled Homo to follow and dropped to the ground. In a minute both men were sheltering in the clump of bushes where on the previous day Oliva had waited before making a dart for the garden door.
"There's been a fire here," said Homo in a low voice, and pointed to a big ugly patch of black amidst the green.
Beale surveyed it carefully, then wormed his way through the bushes until he was within reach of the ruined plot. He stretched out his hand and pulled in a handful of the debris, examined it carefully and stuffed it into his pocket.
"You are greatly interested in a grass fire," said Homo curiously.
"Yes, aren't I?" replied Beale.
They spent the next hour reconnoitring the ground. Once the door of the wall-shed opened, two men came out and walked to the house, and they had to lie motionless until after a seemingly interminable interval they returned again, stopping in the middle of the black patch to talk. Beale saw one pointing to the ruin and the other shook his head and they both returned to the shed and the door closed behind them.
"There's somebody coming down the main drive," whispered Homo.