"It warn't him. He's the groom. 'Twas the gardener chap."
"Of course. What was I thinking of? He wanted them to tack up his vines. They wouldn't be any good for horse-shoes, and there's no question of socks at all. You needn't wrap it up, the box won't catch cold in my pocket. Sixpence ha'penny? Dirt cheap. I think they're worth quite a guinea a box, but you daren't charge that, of course, or they would haul you up as profiteers. Thanks so much."
He had noticed that the full box exactly matched the broken one taken from the bush.
Elated at the success of his first move, Pratt returned at once to the camp.
"You're soon back," said Warrender. "Changed your mind again?"
"Not a bit. I'm inclined to think diplomats and detectives are of one kidney. I've been magnificently diplomatic, and I've made a discovery."
"Well?"
"My old uncle's as mad as a hatter!"
"A family failing," Armstrong remarked. "But what's that to do with it?"
"Why, this, old tomato. He employs a lot of foreigners; that's mad, to begin with. He goes away, and leaves them in the house with instructions to sow tin-tacks on No Man's Island. If that isn't stark madness, I'd like to know what is."