“Oh,” said Danny, “I see!” He was just looking at a funny little sketch he had found in an inner pocket of the satchel. It was of Dutton, and showed the harbour and the church and the Village, and the roads all round. And it was very much like the one done from the church tower. It puzzled him, because Dutton Church had a spire and no one could sit up on that and paint!
“It’s very funny,” said Danny thoughtfully.
“What’s funny?” asked the artist.
“This sketch. You must have been up somewhere high when you drew it. But we have no church tower here.”
The artist dropped his pencil and turned round quickly on Danny.
“What d’you mean?” he said sharply. “What sketch? Give it to me.” And he snatched it out of the boy’s hand and, folding it, put it in his breast-pocket.
Danny looked keenly at the man. Why was he so flurried and excited? His detective instinct smelt a rat at once.
“Where did you sit, sir, when you did that sketch?” he asked with innocent eyes resting on the artist’s face.
“I, oh—I don’t remember,” said the man.
“But you must have been up high somewhere.”