“Nothing in the other ear,” said Anson, smiling at West. “Shouldn’t wonder if he’s got ever so many tucked in his cheeks, like a monkey pouches nuts.”
This time it seemed as if the same idea had struck the searchers, for the black was ordered to open his mouth, and a big coarse finger was thrust in, and the interior of the mouth was carefully explored, without result.
“Here, I know,” whispered Anson, rubbing his hands together. “Oh, the artfulness of the beggar!”
“Where are they, then, old Double-cunning?” cried Ingleborough contemptuously.
“Stuck with gum in amongst his woolly hair—I say, isn’t it fun?”
“Rather disgusting,” replied West. “I shouldn’t like the job.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Anson; “it sets me thinking, and it’s interesting. Hah! I was right.”
He stood rubbing his hands together in his childish enjoyment, while one of the searchers carefully passed his hands all over the black’s head, but found no small diamonds tangled up amongst the curly little knots of hair.
“Well, I did think he’d got some there,” continued Anson.—“Oh, of course! One might have guessed it before.”
This was upon the black’s head being forced back a trifle, while a pinch of snuff was blown through a pea-shooter right into the prisoner’s nose, making him sneeze violently.