"Didn't search very closely, did you?" he said. "Supposing you were to have another search? You never know: we might find some more little things of this nature."
The Sergeant joined in the search, but the result, though surprising, was not very helpful.
"In fact," said Hemingway, regarding the collection of objects which the shrubbery had yielded, "you might call it a bit confusing. It beats me how things get into places like this. Where did you find that old boot?"
"That was just by the wall by the road," said the constable.
"Thrown over by some tramp. It's been there for months, from the looks of it. You can take it away, and that broken bit of saucer with it. And if that rusty thing's the lid of a kettle, I shan't want that either. Now, what have we got left?"
"One broken nail-file, one toy magnet, and a pocketknife," said the Sergeant, as one checking an inventory.
Hemingway scratched his chin. "I'm bound to admit it's a mixed bag," he said. "Still, you never know. I don't myself carry nail-files in my pocket, nor magnets either, but that isn't to say others mayn't. Mind you, the nailfile, being broken, may have been chucked away, same as the kettle-lid, and that bit of china."
"Seems a funny place to use as a rubbish heap," demurred the Sergeant. "I knew a chap that used to carry a nail-file about with him. Sissy sort of fellow, with waved hair."
"He would be," said Hemingway. "We'll keep that file, in case it turns out to be relevant."
"What about the magnet?" asked Wake. "Who'd go dropping a thing like that around? Looks to me like it could only have been some kid, playing around in the shrubbery."