“If neither of you gentlemen, has settled what to do,” he said, “it seems to me the best thing is to make a line of our-sens along top of the bank here, and then go steady right along towards Lenby—say twenty yards apart.”
The doctor said that no better plan could be adopted, but added:—
“I should advise that whenever a pool is reached the man who comes to it should shout. Then all the line must stop while I come to the pool and examine it.”
“But we’ve got no drags or hooks, mester,” whispered the churchwarden, and the doctor shuddered.
“No,” he said hastily, “but I think there would certainly be some marks of struggling at the edge—broken twigs, grass, or herbage torn away.”
“Look at Distie,” whispered Gilmore.
“Was looking,” replied Macey who was gazing fixedly at his fellow-pupil’s wild eyes and hollow cheeks. “Hasn’t pitched, or shoved him in, has he?”
“Hush! Don’t talk like that,” whispered Gilmore again; and just then the object of their conversation looked up sharply, as if conscious that he was being canvassed, and gazed suspiciously from one to the other.
Meanwhile the miller who had uncovered so as to wipe his brow, threw his staring red cotton handkerchief sharply back into the crown of his hat and knocked it firmly into its place.
“Why, of course,” he said: “That’s being a scientific gentleman. I might have thought of that, but I didn’t.”