"Shouldn't wonder if there was a tale hanging to every one of those dogs," he said, grimly. "But what's in these sacks?" "Now look ye here--look ye here!" exclaimed D. Wragg, assuming not to have heard the last remark; "don't you make no mistake. You've searched all from top to bottom now, gents, so let's have an end of all this game." "Stand aside, will you," cried the sergeant, roughly; and forcing D. Wragg back, he strode up to the sacks, threw them down one after the other, and felt through them. "Pooh! corks!" he exclaimed, contemptuously, after a few moments' examination. "Don't know what you want with corks up here though, master. What's in the basket? Tied down, eh?" "Now look here, don't you make no mistake--don't now--I purtest agen it all." With a fierce rush, D. Wragg threw himself upon the great basket, clinging frantically thereto, and struggling viciously, and kicking with his club boot at the men who tried to drag him away. A sharp scuffle ensued, for the dealer clung tightly to the great flat hamper, and it was not till after quite a battle that D. Wragg was dragged from his hold, to stand panting, hot, and glaring of eye, gazing from one to the other. "Now do, sir--do take my advice," said the sergeant, once more drawing Harry Clayton aside. "I tell you frankly, I don't like the look of things; and only think of the old gentleman, sir, if anything should prove to be wrong. You'd better take him away--you had indeed." He left Clayton, and, as if seeking to make delays, went and spoke to the constables, and then threatened to handcuff the dealer if he did not quietly submit. "I don't care," said D. Wragg; "you may handcuff me, and leg-cuff me, and put a collar round my neck if you like; but I ain't agoin' to stand still and see my place pulled all to pieces for nothing at all. Don't you make--" "There! hold your tongue!" cried the sergeant; and he turned round to gaze at Harry Clayton, who had slowly crossed to where Sir Francis was standing, pondering the while upon the detective's meaning looks and words. He laid his hand upon the old man's arm, but Sir Francis, on hearing his words, although he shudderingly turned from where lay the basket, sternly refused to go, and moved Harry aside as he grew more earnest and pressing. Sergeant Falkner shrugged his shoulders, and muttered something about the obstinacy of old folks. Then he turned away, and, as a groan burst from D. Wragg, and he struggled with his captors, the basket was approached, the string that tied down the lid was cut; the said lid, set quite free, was dashed open, and then the sergeant stood gazing excitedly down into the straw which covered something with which the great wicker case was filled.