“Box? Where?” A vacant expression came into Tric-Trac’s face, and he looked all around him except at the box upon which he was sitting.
“Box?” he repeated, with that hopeless effrontery which never deserts criminals of his class, even under the guillotine. “I don’t see any box.”
“You’re sitting on it,” observed the Lizard.
“That box? Oh! You mean that box? Oh!” He peeped at it between his meagre legs, then turned a nimble eye on the poacher.
“What’s in it?” demanded the poacher, sullenly.
“Don’t know,” replied Tric-Trac, with brisk interest. “I found it.”
“Found it!” repeated the Lizard, scornfully.
“Certainly, my friend; how do you suppose I came by it?”
“You stole it!”
They faced each other for a moment.