“Going to turn him away, pater?” asked Gerard.
“No, I won’t do that; but I’ll drop him a friendly hint that he mustn’t make this the scene of his daily walks. You remain here.”
The stranger was not in the least confused or apologetic as Wagram accosted him. The latter recognised with some interest the weather-beaten, white-bearded face of the man who had been pointed out to him as Develin Hunt.
“Good specimens these,” he said approvingly. “I’ve shot many of them, so I ought to know.”
“Yes. They’d be dangerous if they weren’t shut in,” said Wagram.
“Very likely. Wild animals enclosed generally do get that way.”
“Now you’re here you’re welcome to look at them,” said Wagram pleasantly, “but I thought I’d just mention that this is private ground.”
The man dropped from his perch with a cat-like nimbleness, rather noticeable in one of his apparent years.
“Meaning I’m trespassing?” he said shortly.
“That’s the word,” laughed Wagram. “But, as I said before, as you are here pray see all you came to see; I have no wish that you should hurry away. Good-afternoon.”