“Here.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“That won’t do,” said the policeman. “Where do you live?”
“In these tents.”
The policeman walked round to the tents and looked into them.
Susan protested.
“We haven’t made our beds yet,” she said.
Just then there was a cheerful noise of whistling from the other end of the island.
“Any more of you?” said the policeman.
“Lots,” said John.
“Now, look here,” said the policeman, “and answer me straight. When did you go aboard Mr. Turner’s houseboat?”
“We’ve never been near it,” said John, “except once when I went to talk to Mr. Turner.”
“Come, come,” said the policeman. “That won’t wash at all. Why, the mess it’s in …”
“Sammy!”
A clear, ringing voice made the policeman turn round sharp.
“Sammy, I’m ashamed of you. If you don’t go away at once I’ll tell your mother.”