"Carved-oak dinin'-room furniture, I been told," replied Bindle indifferently.
The man laughed loudly. Then turned to Bindle. "You mean to say you don't know that van's full o' gals?" he demanded.
"Full o' wot?" exclaimed Bindle, coming to a dead stop. His astonishment was too obvious to leave doubt in the man's mind as to its genuineness.
"Gals an' women," he replied. "Saw 'em gettin' in down the road, out of motors. Dressed in white they was, with coloured sashes over their shoulders. Suffragettes, I should say. They didn't see me though," he added.
Bindle gave vent to a low, prolonged whistle as he resumed his walk.
"'Old me, 'Orace!" he cried happily. "Wot 'ud Mrs. B. say if she knew." Suddenly he paused again, and slapped his knee.
"Well, I'm damned!" he cried. "A raid, of course."
The man looked anxiously up at the blue of the sky.
"It's all right," said Bindle reassuringly. "My mistake; it was a bird."
A few minutes later the man turned off from the main road.