He could hear Bill hard at it, arguing from his
knowledge of Mark's character that this, that and the other must
have happened, and he smiled appreciatively to himself. Bill was
a great conspirator worth a hundred Watsons. As he approached
the second corner he slowed down, and did the last few yards on
hands and knees. Then, lying at full length, inch by inch his
head went round the corner.
The shed was two or three yards to his left, on the opposite side
of the ditch. From where he lay he could see almost entirely
inside it. Everything seemed to be as they left it. The
bowls-box, the lawn-mower, the roller, the open croquet-box,
the--
"By Jove!" said Antony to himself, "that's neat."
The lid of the other croquet-box was open, too. Bill was turning
round now; his voice became more difficult to hear. "You see
what I mean," he was saying. "If Cayley--"
And out of the second croquet-box came Cayley's black head.
Antony wanted to shout his applause. It was neat, devilish neat.
For a moment he gazed, fascinated, at that wonderful new kind of
croquet-ball which had appeared so dramatically out of the box,
and then reluctantly wriggled himself back.
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