“What are you doing there?” said the horseman roughly.
“Counting the stars,” answered he.
Thus the signs and countersigns were exchanged, and the stranger said—
“You're alone, Paul Davies, I take it.”
“No company but ourselves, mate,” answered Davies.
“You're up to half a dozen dodges, Paul, and knows how to lime a twig; that's your little game, you know. This here tree is clean enough, but that 'ere has a hatful o' leaves on it.”
“I didn't put them there,” said Paul, a little sulkily.
“Well, no. I do suppose a sight o' you wouldn't exactly put a tree in leaf, or a rose-bush in blossom; nor even make wegitables grow. More like to blast 'em, like that rum un over your head.”
“What's up?” asked the ex-detective.
“Jest this—there's leaves enough for a bird to roost there, so this won't do. Now, then, move on you with me.”