All the morning he was on guard, now watching from his place of ambush behind the old wall; now exploring the mill for any possible clues.
The sky was black with threatening clouds. At twelve the storm broke. The rain came down in torrents. Danny took shelter in the mill, keeping watch on the pond from the window. It was nearly two before the downpour ceased. Then a pale sunbeam broke out, and Danny ventured forth into the dripping world. Little streamlets gurgled down the paths; cataracts gushed from pipes and gutters about the mill. Small ponds lay in hollow places.
And, alas, the tracks of the stranger’s steps were hidden by an ocean of muddy water!
Danny’s heart sank. He had counted so on showing the Kangaroos this incontestable evidence. Any Scout would have read the true story of yesterday’s adventures in those marks. And now they were gone!
At 2.30 the Kangaroos arrived, very keen on the job. They dragged the pond from end to end. They raked its bottom with a hay-rake. They probed it with a pitchfork. Then they laughed scornfully.
“Nothing doing,” said the Patrol-Leader. “’Fraid you must have been dreaming yesterday, young Wolf Cub.”
Danny was astounded. He had seen the bicycle thrown in, and now he had seen the pond dragged with great thoroughness and no bicycle revealed.
The youngest Kangaroo had a bright idea.
“I expect the chap came early this morning and dragged the pond himself and got up the bike,” he said.
Danny shook his head.