Julian picked up something first. It was a firm, flattish parcel, done up well, sewn into a canvas covering. He examined it.

“No name. Nothing,” he said. “This is most exciting. Let’s have three guesses what’s inside.”

“Bacon for breakfast, I hope!” said Anne at once.

“Idiot,” said Julian, getting out a knife to slit the string threads that sewed up the canvas. “I guess it’s smuggled goods of some sort. That’s what that plane was doing, I should think, flying over from France, and dropping smuggled goods in a pre-arranged place, and I suppose the gypsies pick them up, and take them away, well hidden in their caravans, to deliver them somewhere. Very clever!”

“Oh Julian, is that the explanation?” said Anne. “What would be in the parcels then, cigarettes?”

“No,” said Julian. “The parcels wouldn’t be so heavy if they only contained cigarettes. There, I’ve slit the threads at last!”

The others crowded round to see. George took her torch out of her pocket so that they could see really well. She flashed it on.

Julian ripped off the canvas covering. Next came some strong brown paper. He ripped that off too.

Then came strong cardboard, tied round with string. That was undone as well, and the cardboard fell to the ground.

“Now, what have we got?” said Julian, excited. “Thin sheets of paper, dozens and dozens of them packed together. Shine your torch nearer, George.”

There was a silence as all the four craned over Julian’s hands.

“Whew! I say! Gosh, do you see what they are?” said Julian, in awe. “American money, dollar notes. But look what they are, one hundred-dollar notes! And my word there are scores and scores of them in this one packet.”

The four stared in amazement as Julian riffled through the packet of notes. However much would they be worth?

“Julian, how much is a hundred-dollar note worth in our money?” asked George.

“About forty pounds I think” said Julian. “Yes, just about that. Gosh, and there are scores in this one packet, and we know they dropped dozens of the packets too. Whatever is it all about?”

“Well, there must be thousands and thousands of dollars lying around us, here in the quarry and outside it,” said George. “I say! Surely this isn’t a dream?”

“Well, I must say it’s a very extravagant kind of dream, if so,” said Dick. “A dream worth thousands of pounds isn’t very usual. Ju, hadn’t we better get busy picking up these parcels?”

“Yes. We certainly had,” said Julian. “I’m beginning to see it all now. The smugglers come over in a plane from France, say, having previously arranged to drop these packets in a lonely spot on this moor. The gypsies are in the plot to the extent that they light the guiding lamp and pick up the parcels.”

“I see, and then they quietly pack them into their caravans, slip off the moor, and deliver them to somebody else, who pays them well for their trouble,” said Dick. “Very smart!”