'Well? Buck up.'
'Well, you needn't believe me, of course, but I've found the pots.'
Reade gasped.
'What!' he cried. 'The pot for the quarter?'
'And the one for the hundred yards. Both of them. It's a fact.'
'But where? How? What have you done with them?'
Barrett unfolded his tale concisely.
'You see,' he concluded, 'what a hole I'm in. I can't tell the Old Man anything about it, or I get booked for cutting roll-call, and going out of bounds. And then, while I'm waiting and wondering what to do, and all that, the thief, whoever he is, will most likely go off with the pots. What do you think I ought to do?'
Reade perpended.
'Well,' he said, 'all you can do is to lie low and trust to luck, as far as I can see. Besides, there's one consolation. This Plunkett business'll make every keeper in the Dingle twice as keen after trespassers. So the pot man won't get a chance of getting the things away.'