"It must go somewhere," he repeated firmly when, for the second time, he passed the chimney of a ruined paper mill he had left behind several minutes before. And, sure enough, another turn of the brook brought him to the edge of the wood. Here the brook surpassed all its previous feats of contortion and doubled back, growling and grumbling, as if to say it had come miles out of its way and missed an appointment with a most important river, all on account of an absent-minded curate.
Emerging from the wood and descending a steep bank, Merle found himself in a narrow lane which he recognized as a tributary of the Ippingford road. On the other side of the lane at the top of the bank was a thick hedge which formed one of the boundaries of the Millbrook golf course. Here the wanderer had a choice of two ways. The lane, though a trifle the longer, was easier walking than the golf course. On the other hand, it was the more frequented, the golf course at this season being often quite deserted, which was an important consideration in Horatio's hatless and earth-stained condition.
The sound of a distant auto horn decided the wavering curate and he scrambled up the bank, trusting to luck to find an opening in the hedge. The only opening provided by the playful goblin who was conducting Merle's fortunes was scarcely more than a thinness, but Horatio plunged into it, appalled by the thought that Harriet might be in the approaching vehicle. She sometimes went for a ride with the Winkles in their big car, and if Harriet should see him now, if anyone should see him now!
As the automobile shot past, Merle crouched motionless, safely obliterated by the hedge whose color scheme matched his own. Then, as he tried to push on through the branches, he was suddenly restrained, not by ordinary thorns, but by the uncompromising pull of a rope of barbed wire that formed an extra barrier along the top of the hedge and that now had hooked itself firmly into Horatio's coat. Squirm and struggle as he would, the agitated naturalist could not free himself, and, to make matters worse, as he reached his left leg forward and tried to brace himself for a better pull by digging his boot into the turf of the golf course, he felt his toe violently caught in a fierce grip and so powerfully held that he was now literally anchored in the middle of the hedge, unable to move a single inch forward by reason of the cruel barbed wire or a single inch backward on account of whatever savage creature had seized his extended toe—a most painful and embarrassing position for this kindly Christian gentleman!
Horatio's first effort was to get rid of the animal that was holding his left foot. It must be a dog, he reasoned, yet it was strange that he had heard no growl. What else but a dog could it be? He peered through the branches, but could distinguish nothing except the green of the turf.
"Whoa, doggy! Good boy!" he called out caressingly, at the same time trying discreetly to withdraw his leg; but the grip held firmly.
"A most extraordinarily steady dog," reflected Merle. "And a silent dog." He wondered if it was possible that he had been bitten by a canine deaf mute. There was no question that he had been bitten by something, for he could feel the teeth on the toe of his boot.
At this moment Horatio was conscious of footsteps approaching along the path outside the hedge and, screwing his head around, he made out the figure of a woman in a brilliant red cloak. There was no longer any question of concealment. He must get out of this painful position and, in his most conciliatory tone, he addressed the lady from the depths of the hedge.
"My dear madam, I regret exceedingly the necessity that compels me——"
"Oh!" cried the lady, and Merle observed that the scarlet cloak had stopped, while a pair of lustrous, dark eyes gazed suspiciously in his direction. "Don't be alarmed, my friend," he begged. "I wish you no harm. On the contrary, I need help. The fact is, some animal, a dog, I think, has hold of my left foot."