Luke went off to his work, still looking extremely gloomy. The others went to the wall. Pip and Fatty climbed over it and dropped down to the other side. Pip went to the garden-shed at the top of the garden, and found a small jar of turps.
Fatty opened the bicycle shed and let out Buster, who tore round and round him, barking as if he had not seen Fatty for at least five years.
"Come on, Buster," said Fatty, picking him up. "You've got to do a little work."
In a short time Fatty, Buster, and Pip were over the wall with the others.
"The coast is all clear at the moment," said Larry.
Fatty shook some turps on to his rather grubby hanky, and held it to Buster's nose. "Smell that, old fellow. Smell it good and hard. That's turps. Now, you just run all over the place and see if you can find the same smell again. Good old bloodhound, aren't you?"
Buster did not like the smell of the turps at all. He looked away from the hanky with a face showing intense disgust. Then he sneezed violently three times.
"Go on, Buster dog, find it, find it!" said Fatty, flapping the hanky at him. Buster looked up at Fatty. He knew quite well what "find it" meant. He was always finding things for Fatty. He trotted off, his pink tongue hanging out, his tail in the air.
"He's looking for rabbits, not turps," said Larry in disgust. "Look — he's found a rabbit-hole — and now we shan't be able to make him see sense for ages!"
Buster had found a hole. It was in a bank. He stuck his nose into it, gave a whine, and began to dig hard in his usual way, sending the earth flying out behind him.