“No, I wasn’t,” said the artist shortly, and changed the subject. But Danny was not to be put off so easily. He meant to find out why his friend had suddenly turned “snuffy,” and why he had told a lie, for any one could see the sketch had been drawn from above. Sitting silently on the ground, Danny thought deeply. Could it have been drawn from the roof of the Hall? No!—for the Hall and its lake and gardens came into the picture. There was only one other high building in Dutton—the ruined tower of the Abbey. The man must have done his sketch from there! But how had he got up? And why was he so mysterious about it?
“Sir,” said Danny, “how did you manage to get up the tower to do that sketch? The door is always locked and the tower is dangerous.”
The man started at the question, and looked closely at Danny, a frown on his face.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said. “Run along, now, and don’t go on bothering me—I’m busy.”
Of course Danny examined the door of the tower, but, as usual, it was locked, and there were no signs that any one had broken into the Abbey ruins. But before long he had made a curious discovery about his artist friend. Another friend of Danny’s—a fisherman—had promised to take him out on a fishing expedition, if he could manage to wake up, and get to his cottage by 5 A.M. It was terribly early to have to get up, but, with the help of an alarum clock, Danny managed to wake. The whole Village seemed fast asleep as he crept out into the chill, dewy morning. Not a soul was about. He was trotting along the road at “scouts’ pace,” whistling, when, to his surprise, he suddenly saw the artist walking quickly towards him!
“Hullo, sir!” he cried, with friendly pleasure.
But the artist had started on seeing the Cub, and was not looking over-pleased at this early-morning encounter.
Scanning the man with curious eyes, Danny noticed that his rough tweed suit looked wet. To make sure, he took hold of the artist’s arm, as if by a friendly impulse. Sure, enough, his coat was wringing wet, and, peering more closely, Danny saw little scraps of duck-weed sticking to it. His thoughts flew at once to the mill pond.
But before Danny had had time to think much of this discovery, his quick eyes had noted something else.
“Look, sir,” he said, “you’ve torn a big piece out of your coat! And one of the buttons, too!” The artist glanced down.