I put my hand into my pocket and drew them out.

The packet was a tin box, strapped around with a leathern band: on the top, between the band and the box, was a curious piece of yellow metal that looked like the half of a waist-buckle, having a socket but without any corresponding hook.
On the metal were traced some characters which I could not read.
The tin box was heavy and plain, and the strap soaking with salt water.
I turned to the letter; it was all but a pulp, and in its present state illegible.

Carefully smoothing it out, I slipped it inside the strap and turned to hide my prize; for such was my fear of the man who called himself Apollyon, that I could know no peace of mind whilst it remained about me.

How should I hide it?
After some thought, I remembered that a stone or two in the now empty cow-house had fallen loose.

With a hasty glance over my shoulder, I crept around and into the shed.