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But maybe something more than just his gift, for she knows what he thinks of Miss Hale, her special friend and everything they stand for, and she doesn’t dismiss the possibility that even though he’s holding it up as the prize he has won for her, this might also be Daniel’s way of shaking things up a bit and getting one up on the Miss Hales and their friends of this world. Something for Catherine, yes. But something for Daniel too. As she rushes towards him, his face alight with triumph, she is ready to brain him.
    Yet, even as she acknowledges this impulse, almost as soon as she stops and stands in front of him, she finds herself (eyes darting from him to his prize and back) irresistibly peering into the tin as he opens it for her. And, in so doing, in surrendering to the impulse to peer into the tin, to spy upon its contents, to satisfy her curiosity, she also acknowledges that this weakness, this impulse to peer, makes her complicit. And even as she gazes upon the freshly cut roses, the gold ring that had so briefly been upon the finger of Miss Hale’s friend, and the folded piece ofpaper that might contain anything, she is also acknowledging that she is as bad as him. That they are jackals together. As bad as each other. But, in spite of this, even as she gazes upon the prize, she lets him have it. ‘You idiot. You great, dumb village idiot!’
    Sobered by her anger, and her censure, the devil bolts from his eyes. She takes one last look before telling him to close the tin. Then she attempts to collect herself. It is not, after all, a difficult situation, the calm Catherine inside her is saying. He has stolen the tin, but the garden is theirs, it is unoccupied, and they have, she reflects, all the time in the world to put the tin back in the ground where it belongs, cover it in soil, and smooth the surface for the second time, almost in as many minutes, in such a way as to suggest that the ground has not been disturbed and they are not jackals together after all.
    But just as this consoling thought is passing through her mind, just as the calm Catherine inside is about to save the situation, she notices the tweed cap still sitting on the lawn beside the low hedge where it was left. And no sooner does she notice the cap than she hears their voices and the sound of their feet moving swiftly up the pathway, as yet still behind the arched wall, and she knows there will beno time to put the thing back in the ground where it belongs. And, without even trying, she and Daniel rush back to the bushes from which they have only just emerged, and conceal themselves once more, Daniel still clutching the tin firmly in his hand.
    As they crouch under the leaves, they hear laughter coming towards them, as Miss Hale and her friend re-enter the rose garden under the archway. Catherine notes, the motor car presumably still in the drive (although it may have quietly left while she was letting Daniel know what she thought of his little prank), that they re-enter the garden carefree, if a little wary, look about for human presence, and deciding that the coast is clear (that the motor car merely signified some casual visitor), stroll in. Catherine is breathing deeply from the exertion of quickly retreating to the bushes and the dread of knowing what Miss Hale and her friend are about to find. As they step onto the dappled shade of the lawn, Miss Hale points to the cap. She is still pointing to it, saying, lightly, something about age and forgetfulness, as she leads him towards the forgotten object. Then all laughter stops. They stand, scarcely believing the evidence of their own eyes. He drops her hand; she turns to him as if for an explanation, as if he mightknow the secret cause of this travesty. For the soil has been brutally, hastily disturbed — almost as if by a dog or some wild creature from the district. A fox possibly. But in broad daylight? With people about? And as they stare at each other, silenced by what they see, the