“What are you after, Skene?” he demanded. “I thought you were supposed to be watching this fellow.”
Skene rose to his feet, rather sulky at being reproved.
“He ain’t escaped yet. I’m ’tween him and the door.”
Howard acknowledged the truth of both statements.
“What are you grubbing in the hedge for?” he continued, after he had made his apology.
Skene extended an earthy palm on which rested some small objects.
“ ’Tis the lid of a tin box—one o’ these round ’uns. And here’s some darts that Mr. Hawkhurst uses for that air-gun o’ his when he’s shootin’ at a target. Let’s see . . . one . . . two . . . three . . .”
He laboriously counted up to seven and held out his hand for confirmation.
“Put ’em in the box-lid, Skene, and lay ’em down somewhere safe. You found them where I saw you searching?”
“Just in there, among the roots o’ the hedge. Like enough the other bit o’ the box’ll be outside in the alley. I’ll have a look.”