The men laughed good-humouredly, and the bare staircase creaked and groaned beneath their heavy tread, which directly afterwards made the upper passage, with its sloping ceiling, which followed the shapes of the gables, echo. That part of the search was quickly done, not so quickly that it did not give time to Waller to whistle the stave of the old Hampshire ditty three times over. He had just got to the last bar for this third time when the butt of the sergeant's musket was dropped with a heavy bang upon the floor overhead. "Beg pardon, sir," he shouted down to Waller. "There's one of these 'ere doors locked!" "Eh?" cried Waller, whose face now looked scarlet, and who stood for a moment or two holding his breath. "One door here locked, sir. I ought to see into every room." "Oh, to be sure! That's my den," cried the boy cavalierly--"my workshop. I am coming," and springing up two steps at a time he faced the sergeant, who, with two men, was waiting by the locked door. Waller thrust his hand into his pocket, and the sergeant looked at him sharply, for his breath, possibly from the exertion, came thick and fast, while the key seemed to stick in his pocket as if it had got across. "There you are," he said jauntily. "It's full of my rubbish and odds and ends. Catch!" He pitched the key, and the sergeant caught it with one hand as cleverly as if he had been a cricketer, turned, and began to insert it in the lock. "Mind the snakes!" cried Waller mockingly; while, in spite of a strong effort, he felt half choked, and his voice sounded strained and hard. "Snakes?" said the sergeant, pausing with the key half turned. "Up here?" "Yes," said Waller; "at least a dozen. I am a collector, you know." The sergeant gave him a searching look, hesitated a moment, and then, with a half-smile upon his lip, he turned the key. The bolt flew back with a sharp snap and he threw open the door. CHAPTER SIXTEEN. STILL SEARCHING. With a mingling of instinct and the practice of the profession, the sergeant's two followers brought down their muskets to the present as the door flew wide, presumably to meet the attack of the snakes, but the curled and dried-up skins, so light without the sand that a sharp puff of wind would have blown them away, lay still upon the shelf, and there was no rush for escape made by Godfrey Boyne. The place, full of its litter of odds and ends dear to the young naturalist, and with its open windows, lay open to the gaze of the soldiers, and the sergeant, after a sharp look round, which satisfied him that the place was empty, turned to Waller. "I thought it meant game, sir," he said. "Where's your sarpints?" "Yonder on the shelf," said Waller, with a mischievous look in his eyes. "Yah! Stuffed! Well, sir, we have done; and thank you for being so nice to us over an unpleasant job." "Oh, don't name it, sergeant," said Waller coolly.