He scraped earth and plaster out of a corner and sat down to make a little model of the landscape on the table, following the contours of the map.
He did it extraordinarily neatly, for, like all great hunters, he was as deft as a weaver bird.

He puzzled over it for a long time, and conned the map till he must have got it by heart.

Then he took his field-glasses--a very good single Zeiss which was part of the spoils from Rasta's motor-car--and announced that he was going to follow my example and get on to the house-top.

Presently his legs disappeared through the trap, and Blenkiron and I were left to our reflections.
Peter must have found something uncommon interesting, for he stayed on the roof the better part of the day.

It was a dull job for us, since there was no light, and Blenkiron had not even the consolation of a game of Patience.