Luttrell's friends were already outside the hall door, lighting their cigars and playing with the dogs. A keeper stood in the background, waiting until the party should start.
"Aren't you coming, Brian?" said one of the young men.
"I'll join you presently," said Brian. "I am going down to the loch first to get out the boat."
"What a splendid gun that is of yours!" said Archie Grant, the younger of the two men. "It is yours, is it not? I saw it in the corner of the hall as I came in. You had it the other day at the Duke's."
"It was not mine. It belongs to Hugo."
"Let me have a look at it again; it's an awfully fine one."
"Are you ready, Grant?" said Richard Luttrell, coming forward. "What are you looking for?"
"Oh, nothing; a gun," said the young fellow. "I see it's gone. I thought it was there when I first came in; it's of no consequence."
"Not your own gun, I suppose?"
"No, no; I have my own. It was Hugo's."