“I’ll take the bedroom next,” said the man shortly.
They disappeared in the next room and the murmur of their voices, with the moving of a heavy chest and the stir of papers, came out.
Andy cast a vicious eye at Juno. He half rose and took a step on tiptoe. But the bedroom door opened again and he sat down.
“I haven’t hauled a trap—nor set one—since the season closed,” said Uncle William’s voice.
“That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. But I have reason to think.... I’d better make a thorough search—since I am here,” he finished quietly.
“You search all you want to,” said Uncle William cordially—“Get away, Juno.” He pushed her aside with his foot. “This is my sink cupboard,” he opened the door hospitably. “Lucky I washed some of the dishes this morning,” he said, “You would ’a’ had a time if I hadn’t!” The man reached in and drew out a pile of plates. His nose lifted itself as he set them down and reached in again. He emerged with a quiet look in his face—“I shall have to trouble you to take out all the things in that cupboard,” he said with a motion of his hand.
Uncle William’s face had dropped a little. “I most knew you ’d want me to do that,” he said, “I o’ ’t to ’a’ done it, this morning, before you came.”
The man laughed out. “That’s all right, Mr. Benslow. I don’t mind your bluffing—as long as you play fair. But that cupboard is a give-away, dead easy.”
Uncle William sighed a little. “I wish had my clam-rake,” he said.
The man stared at him—