“It would be considerably like hard work, so I don’t think I will,” said Wally, sitting down on another fragment. “This old table of a rock wants tidying up, I think—did you ever see so many loose chunks scattered about?”
“I expect a bit of the cliff fell on it from above, and flew into bits,” said Jim. “Anyhow, it’s warm and jolly. What’s that?”
Something tinkled on the rock, and Wally uttered a sharp exclamation of annoyance.
“Botheration! That’s my knife.”
“Hard luck!” said Jim, looking at a cleft in the surface, down which the knife had vanished. “Never mind; I’ve got two with me, and you can have one.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to lose that fellow,” Wally said, vexedly. “It’s that extra-special knife Norah gave me when I was going out—the big one she called ‘the lethal weapon.’ It’s full of all sorts of dodges. I’d sooner lose a lot of odd things than that knife.”
He lay flat, and put his eye to the cleft in the rock, peering downwards.
“Afraid it’s gone for good, old man,” Jim said. “It’s hard luck—but Norah will understand. She’ll probably jump at the chance of giving you another.”
“I want this one,” said Wally, his voice slightly muffled. He peered harder. “I say, Jim, I can see daylight down here.”
“I don’t see how you can,” Jim said, leaning over in his turn. “This old rock seems pretty solid. Let’s look.” He applied his eye to the cleft, in his turn.