"Oh, very well, sergeant," replied the gardener; "I don't mind when I am asked civilly, but I am not going to have all the country cobblers in Hampshire coming into my yard and meddling with the tools as is in my charge. Here, that's not the way, swaddy," he continued, joining the two soldiers, who, each still holding his musket in his hand, were fumbling awkwardly with the long ladder in carrying it across the yard. He smiled good-humouredly at the two stiff-strapped and buckled-up men, and took hold of the ladder about the middle. "There, drop its heel on the ground," he said, "and one of you put your foot on the bottom round." The soldier promptly obeyed, and the next minute, as the straddling bottom of the ladder was kept down, the gardener ran his hands along beneath it, thrusting it upward round by round till it was perpendicular, when, grasping it firmly, one hand low down and arms outstretched to the fullest extent, he walked quickly across the yard, planted the ladder down close to the house, and let the top fall away from him with a gentle _whish_ amongst the ivy. "Well done!" cried the two soldiers admiringly; and the gardener came away smiling with self-satisfaction at the men's admiration of his skill. "Oh," he said to the sergeant, "it's easy enough when you know how." "That's so, my lad," said the sergeant. "There's nothing like having a man who understands his tools." Waller still stood frowning and rattling his knife, the key, a piece of curb chain, and a few other odds and ends in the bottom of his pocket, furtively watching the fat constable the while, till he caught sight of the sergeant looking at him, ready to half close his eye in a knowing wink. "That'll about do," said Gusset; and he looked up to the top of the ladder, half hidden amongst the clustering ivy, then down at the two men, and, lastly, at the sergeant. "Now, then," he said, in his unpleasant, husky voice, "it's no use to waste time. Somebody had better go up." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. A HOT SCENT. "To be sure," said the sergeant sharply. "Well, we are waiting. You know the way better than we do. Up you go." The constable turned upon him in astonishment, blowing out his cheeks and seeming to make his eyes roll, while his naturally rotund figure began more and more to assume the appearance of a fat cork float. "Me! Me! Me go up there!" "To be sure," said the sergeant. "You country chaps are used to this sort of thing. My lads are not. Scaling ladders is more in our way, and they are bad enough when you have got to carry your Brown Bess." "To be sure," said the gardener, chiming in, with a grin of satisfaction. "That's right enough, sergeant. Up you go, Fatty!"