“Yes, sir; and what am I to do?”
“Let ’em hang.”
“I wish I could, sir, but I feel as if I dursn’t.”
“Dare not! Why?”
“Fear they might walk over the wall.”
“What, be stolen?”
“Ay, my lad. I come in at that gate at six this morning, and was going gently down the centre walk, when it was like having a sort o’ stroke, for there was a head just peeping over the wall.”
“A stranger?”
“I couldn’t quite see, sir; but I’m ’most ready to swear as it was Pete Warboys, looking to see if they was ready to go into his pockets.”
“Then let’s pick them at once,” cried Tom.