“Yes, I will.” Roger strolled over towards the spot where an ancient rustic was clipping one of Mr. Wetherby’s hedges. “I want to speak to Mr. Prince,” he confided to the ancient. “Can you tell me where I shall find him?”
“Sir?” queried the other, curving a large and horny hand round an equally large and horny ear.
“I want to speak to Mr. Prince,” Roger repeated loudly. “Where is he?”
The ancient did not move. “Sir?” he remarked stolidly.
“Prince!” bawled Roger. “Where?”
“Oh, Prince! ’E’s in the next field alongside. Up ’tother end I seed ’im last, not above five minutes back.”
The horny palm ceased to function as an ear-trumpet and became a receptacle for a spare shilling of Roger’s, and the two moved on. In the side of the next field was set a sturdy gate. Roger swung himself easily over it, the light of battle in his eyes. Alec followed suit, and they advanced together up the centre of the field.
“I can’t see anyone here, can you?” Roger remarked, when they had gone some little distance. “Perhaps he’s gone somewhere else.”
“Nothing but a cow in that corner. Is there any other way out of the field? He didn’t get over that gate into the road within the last five minutes. We should have seen him.”
Roger halted and gazed round carefully. “Yes, there’s a—— Hullo! What’s the matter with that cow? She seems very interested in us.”