“Amazing!” observed Roger admiringly. “I can’t think how the man does it. It must be something to do with wireless. Yes, Alec; you’re quite right. I most certainly do think it was Jefferson who came into the library that time. But don’t you see the other significance? Why didn’t he go into Elchester half an hour ago? He was surely quite ready when he came and told us. Was it because I somehow roused his suspicions, asking him about priest-holes and things, and he stayed behind to spy on us and find out what we were up to?” “The Lord knows!” said Alec helplessly. “Well, it looks like it, doesn’t it? It looks as if Jefferson is getting suspicious. Uncommonly suspicious. I don’t like it. Things are going to get awkward if they get wind of our little game. We shan’t be able to investigate in peace any longer.” “Dashed awkward,” Alec agreed feelingly. “Hush!” Roger crouched down hastily behind a bush, and Alec followed suit. As they did so, there came the noise of an approaching car, and the big blue Sunbeam swept past them and down the drive. Roger glanced at his watch. “Humph! Started four minutes after we did. It all fits in, doesn’t it? But there’s one thing that really is worrying me badly.” “What’s that?” They scrambled through the undergrowth and headed for the house once more. Roger turned impressively to Alec. “Did he or did he not hear what we were saying outside that window? And if he did, how much?” Chapter XIV Dirty Work at the Ash Pit The ash pit proved easy to locate. It lay among some outhouses and was surrounded on three sides by mellow old red-brick walls, the space within which was filled with a depressed-looking mass of rotting vegetable matter, old paper, and tins. The smell that hung heavily about it was not a nice one. “Have we got to search that?” Alec asked, eyeing the view with considerable disfavour. “We have,” Roger returned, and plunged happily into the smell. “Can’t expect to get through a job like ours without a certain amount of dirty work, you know.” “Personally, I prefer my dirty work at the crossroads,” Alec murmured, following his intrepid leader with the greatest reluctance. “They’re cleaner. Dirty work at the ash pit doesn’t seem to appeal to me in the least.” He began gingerly to handle the cleanest pieces of paper he could see, which happened to be old newspapers. Roger was rooting contentedly among a heap of scraps and shreds in the middle. “These on the top seem to be yesterday’s collection all right,” he announced. “Yes, here’s the envelope from a letter of mine that came by the first post. Hum! Nothing in this lot, as far as I can see.” “What exactly are we looking for?” Alec asked after a short pause, glancing with some interest at the county cricket page of a newspaper three weeks old.