"Trespassing, do you mean?" inquired the constable. "Well, they could, easy, because the wall's only a low one, as you'll see, sir."
"Know of anyone, other than a kid, who'd be likely to carry a small magnet in his pocket?" asked Hemingway.
"Can't say I do, sir. Sort of engineer, it would have to be, wouldn't it?"
"I'm bothered if I know," replied Hemingway frankly.
"Well, the pocket-knife seems the likeliest find to me," said Wake. "Nothing the matter with it; both blades intact, so we can take it it wasn't chucked away. I don't know what you think about it, sir, but I don't set much store by that hair-slide. Sort of thing that might easily get lost. I was thinking it might be Miss White's."
"It might," agreed Hemingway. "If it is, she can identify it. But what strikes me is that it hasn't, from the looks of it, been lying out here long. Tell me what you make of this."
He drew the Sergeant towards the sapling which stood a few paces from where the rifle had been found, and pointed out to him some grazes on the smooth bark, about eighteen inches from the ground.
Wake inspected the marks rather dubiously. "Well, I don't know that I make anything of it, sir. Not immediately, that is. Someone might have scraped the tree, I suppose."
"What for?" inquired Hemingway.
The Sergeant shook his head. "You have me there, sir. Still, trees do get bruised, don't they? Does it mean anything to you?"