The Wind on the Moon by Eric Linklater Page B

wasn’t thinking about Mr. Parker. I was thinking about the Silver Falcon. Do you remember his saying that in Greenland he could see a hundred miles on either side, and from a mile in the air he could aim at a ptarmigan almost on the ground? He must have marvellous eyes.’
    â€˜You mean that if we could let him out of his cage, he might fly round and round, looking for the bottle, everywhere between here and Midmeddle-cum?’
    â€˜Well, I must have dropped it somewhere,’ said Dinah.
    For a little while they sat without speaking, thinking of the tasks that awaited them, and of the difficult situation they were in. They had had a pleasant day, talking to the Falcon and the Puma, and helping Mr. Parker, and to both of them it seemed that being a kangaroo was quite a good sort of life so long as there was plenty to do. But merely to be a kangaroo in a cage, without books or a paintbox or a jigsaw puzzle, with nothing in the way of amusement but sitting and thinking, would be a very dreary existence indeed. They looked at each other, and each saw the same doubt and worry in the other’s eyes.

    Presently they heard, from the house next door where Mr. Parker lived, a noise like someone tearing linen sheets— rrip, rrip, rrip —and at the end of every three rrips there was a piercing whistle. Mr. Parker had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position and was snoring loudly.
    â€˜Shadowing Sir Bobadil must have made him very tired,’ said Dinah.
    â€˜We shall never get to sleep if he goes on like that,’ said Dorinda.
    The noise grew louder and louder, and then, with a tremendous whistle like a train going into a tunnel, Mr. Parker woke himself up. They could hear him tumbling and turning and rising clumsily to his feet. Then came a little cough, twice repeated.
    â€˜He wants us to go and talk to him,’ said Dinah.
    â€˜Perhaps he’s got a clue,’ said Dorinda.
    They went out, and there in the darkness was Mr. Parker’s head leaning over the railing of his outer cage, and the small light of a star was reflected in his large and melancholy eyes.
    â€˜Got your note-book?’ he whispered.
    â€˜Here it is,’ answered Dinah.
    â€˜Then take down a few items, will you? I’ll dictate them quite slowly, and be careful, because every word is important.’
    It was rather difficult to write in the dark, but Dinah did her best, and this is what Mr. Parker dictated:
    At 2.30 p.m . on 13th inst. began to shadow Sir Bobadil the Ostrich, whom I suspect of being the criminal. Shadowing successful. Didn’t lose sight of him once.— Query: Did he know I was following him? Answer: Don’t think so, because I was walking very quietly.—He proceeded to river, where there is sandy ground, and stopped. He stood as if thinking about something. Then quite suddenly he buried his head in the sand. I watched him intently, but he made no other movement. I sat down and waited. I waited for a long time. Nothing happened. Then I got hungry so I came home. When last seen Sir Bobadil was still there with his head in the sand. Had something to eat and thought about case.— Query: Was I baffled? Answer: Yes.—Thought harder and fell asleep. But when I woke up, everything was clear!!! Sir Bobadil is the criminal, as I suspected. He stole his wife’s eggs and buried them. This afternoon (13th inst.) he meant to dig them up again. But he dug in the wrong place, hit his head on a rock, and stunned himself! That is why he stood so still. N.B. —This is only a theory, and will have to be proved before it becomes evidence.
    â€˜I should think so, indeed,’ said Dinah. ‘Don’t you know that ostriches always bury their heads in the sand when they want to hide themselves?’
    â€˜And how does that help?’ asked Mr. Parker.
    â€˜It doesn’t,’ said Dinah, ‘but they think it does.’
    â€˜How do you know what they