“More of these yaller stones,” said Tom.
We threw out as quietly as we could a couple of hundred rough lumps about the size of those fragments of granite used for macadamising a modern road.
“Tom,” I said, after trying about with my spade, “there’s something more here. I believe those pieces were put in to deceive whoever searched.”
“Let me clear out a little more of the sand, Mas’r Harry.”
He threw out a few more spadefuls, filling the spade each time with his hands so as to throw out nothing more than sand; and then once more we began to feel about.
“What’s that, Tom?” I whispered hastily.
I knew by his exclamation that he had found something particular.
“Nothin’ at all,” said Tom sulkily.
“I insist upon knowing what it is,” I cried angrily, as I caught him by the arm.
For—it must have been the influence of the gold—I again felt suspicious.