“Evening, sir,” he said as he passed. “Hullo, boy,” said Mr. Bulky. “Why did you come to my house this morning and take away my waste paper? I told you I would not give it to you. You must give me back my sack at once. Do you hear?” He scowled angrily.
“I am sorry, sir,” said Danny. “I am afraid I can’t, this evening. I shall have to get leave from our Cubmaster. I am sure he will say yes, and I will bring it back to you on Monday morning.”
“No,” said the man, “you shall give it to me now.”
He walked towards the door and tried to open it. Whilst his back was turned, Danny took the key from his pocket and flung it into a patch of young potato plants.
“Give me the key,” said the man, turning round.
“I haven’t got it on me,” said Danny.
“Little liar,” said the man, and turned out Danny’s pockets. Then he swore hard, and gave Danny’s ear a nasty twist. “I promise to bring you back the sack on Monday,” said Danny. “Very well,” growled Mr. Bulky, and he walked out of the gate. Danny followed him out, and then ran down the road in the opposite direction till he was out of sight round the corner. Then he got through a gap in the hedge and ran back under cover of it. When he had made sure that Mr. Bulky was well on his way home he got back into the garden and found the key. It was after six, and he still had a long job before him, so he went back to tea.
. . . . . . . .
It was past seven when Danny once more set to work. Taking up every scrap of paper he examined it carefully. Before long he had found another scrap covered with the same writing. He put it in a box with the first. It was a slow job, but gradually he found more and more pieces. They fitted together like a jig-saw puzzle. Luckily they were only written on one side.
“I know what I’ll do,” said Danny to himself, “I’ll stick them on a sheet of white paper, and then when I have them all it will make a complete letter, and I can take it to Mr. Bates, as evidence against old Bulky.”