In the latter gloomy place, in fact, they met. No sunlight pierced the
dense canopy of branches; it was barely light enough to see. Judy and
Tim advanced towards each other on tiptoe, confident of discovery at
last. They only realised their mistake at five yards' distance.
"You!" exclaimed Tim, in a disappointed whisper. "I thought it was
going to be a sign." "I felt positive he'd be in here somewhere," said
Judy.
"Perhaps we're both signs," they declared together, then paused, and
held a secret discussion about it all.
"He's got a splendid hide," was the boy's opinion. "D'you think Uncle
Felix knows anything? You heard what he said about signs...!"
They decided without argument that he didn't. He just went "thumping
about" in the usual places. He'd never find him. They agreed it was
very wonderful. Tim advanced his pet idea--it had been growing on him:
"I think _he_ knows some special place we'd never look in--a hole or
something." But Judy met the suggestion with superior knowledge: "He
moves about," she announced. "He doesn't stop in a hole. He flies at
an awful rate--from place to place. That's--signs, I expect.
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