And now that all danger seemed to be over, Waller's spirits rose, and, in company with the gardener, he walked with the search-party along the drive, out at the gate, and along the road to the edge of the Squire's estate, keeping up a running fire the while to harass the rear of the column, which was formed by Tony Gusset, the actual rearguard being composed of the sergeant, who fell back with the pair from the Manor to march along silently and solemnly, though thoroughly enjoying the impromptu fun. The gardener commenced it by calling out in an excited tone, as if he had suddenly recalled something: "Here, hi! Gusset!" "Yes," said the man, stopping, to turn round his great full-moon face. "Why, you didn't take the soldiers to look at the cucumber-frames. Bound to say there's one of them there spies lying snug under the leaves." "Ugh!" grunted the constable angrily; and he turned again and went on. "I say, don't be in such a hurry; there's the sea-kale pots, too." "Ah, to be sure!" cried Waller, loud enough for the constable to hear. "Gusset must be right. Better come back and have another look. He may be in one of the sties disguised as a pig." Just then the road was leading them along by the bank of a fine old hammer pond, a great black-looking pool surrounded by a dense growth of alders and water-loving shrubs, while sedge, reed, and rush flourished wonderfully, and formed a mazy home for the abundant moorhens and coots. As the party moved onward to the village there was a sudden rush and a splash, and Waller called upon the sergeant to stop. "Here's a likely place, sergeant," he said. "Nonsense!" said the man, "I know what that splash was. It was a big pike." "It might have been," said the gardener, grinning, "but it's more like the sort of splash a French spy would make when he saw soldiers' scarlet jackets. Why don't you make old Waxy dive in and have a hunt all round under the bushes?" "No, don't, sergeant," put in Waller. "It's ten feet deep in some places." "Pooh! What does that matter?" cried the gardener, who, like the boy, spoke loud enough for the constable to hear. "He wouldn't mind. He'd sink to the bottom and walk about safely all over the mud." "That he wouldn't," cried Waller. "He'd shoot up to the top again like a cork." And then the banter ceased, for the sergeant's men passed through the swing gate, and to Waller's great relief he was able to make his way back to the hall, very silent now as he went over the day's proceedings, and thought of the chances of the men coming back to make a fresh search, while the gardener kept on harping metaphorically upon the broken ladder, and what "master would say" when he came back. At last the boy got rid of him, and made his way into the house, where he had a hard fight to curb his inclinations to rush up at once to his room.