"Of course!" from Hugh.
"Rot again!" said Bert. "Tramps may be pilferers. They're not burglars—at least, not as a general rule. Burglars nowadays dress more or less like gentlemen, live in fine houses or hotels, and employ all the latest scientific appliances."
"Such as X-rays, and that sort," reflected Clive.
"And diamond drills, and dynamite, and gloved hands, and—and the rest of 'em," added Hugh.
"Right—tramps can't afford those things. They may pilfer; they don't set out to become downright burglars. Now, those beggars below aren't all the same."
"One of 'em's the blackguard who threatened Clive and me some while ago," Hugh reminded him. "An out-and-out ruffian he looks too. More of the tramp style, I should call him. So there goes bang your idea that these chaps are burglars."
"In fact, it's a mare's nest," grinned Clive. "These fellows are just tramps or out-of-works, or something of the sort. Homeless fellows, who find that the old tower gives cheap and splendid lodgings. Think of it—nothing to pay for house-rent, no rates and no taxes, no neighbours, either, no annoyance from noisy dogs, or from cocks and hens, no children playing pranks, and——"
"Dry up, do!" said Bert fiercely. "Just shows that you two chaps go about the world with your eyes half closed. That's the worst of being amateur mechanics. Everything that isn't something to do with an engine, a motor, or—or a what-not, isn't worth taking notice of."
"Here!" began Hugh indignantly, for breezes frequently arose between the two brothers. Hugh was not the lad to be down-trodden. Indeed, as a matter of actual fact, it was he who oftenmost triumphed. The easy-going, dreaming Bert usually collapsed early in such arguments and agreed to whatever was passing.
"Shut up!" he retorted curtly enough on this occasion, and to the astonishment of Clive, and, be it added, to Hugh's own astonishment also, for that young gentleman bit the words he was about to utter off short at the very tip of his tongue.