“Oh,” he said to the sergeant, “it’s easy enough when you know how.”
“That’s so, my lad,” said the sergeant. “There’s nothing like having a man who understands his tools.”
Waller still stood frowning and rattling his knife, the key, a piece of curb chain, and a few other odds and ends in the bottom of his pocket, furtively watching the fat constable the while, till he caught sight of the sergeant looking at him, ready to half close his eye in a knowing wink.
“That’ll about do,” said Gusset; and he looked up to the top of the ladder, half hidden amongst the clustering ivy, then down at the two men, and, lastly, at the sergeant.
“Now, then,” he said, in his unpleasant, husky voice, “it’s no use to waste time. Somebody had better go up.”
Chapter Seventeen.
A Hot Scent.
“To be sure,” said the sergeant sharply. “Well, we are waiting. You know the way better than we do. Up you go.”