The chocolate which Diana threw at me ricochetted from my cheekbone on to the hearth, and was devoured by Nobby in the very teeth of his host.
I looked at my watch with a sigh. "I suppose I ought to have told you that chocolates fall without the limit of his digestive powers. The last one took about four hours. And it's eleven now. I am glad I came."
My statement was received with ironical cheers....
It may or may not have been the chocolate, but in the small hours of the following morning it became expedient that I should admit Nobby into the open air. And so it came about that I stood patient and shivering, in a fur coat and pyjamas, at a garden door, while a small white rough-haired thing heaved upon the lawn twelve decent yards away.
The sailing moon, clear-cut, issued her cold white light and showed the sleeping country silent but troubled A pride of clouds rode high in heaven, and the same strong careless wind that bore them swept from the leafless boughs of earth below a boisterous melody, that rose and fell in league-long phrases, far as the ear could follow. Nature was in a royal mood. Her Cap of Maintenance was out, Pomp was abroad, the trump of Circumstance was sounding. A frown of dignity knitted her gentle brow, and meadows, roads, thickets and all her Court wore a staid look to do her honour. Only her favourite, water, dared to smile, and the flashing lake flung back the moonlight with long ripples of silvery laughter.
Somewhere close at hand an owl cried, and Nobby answered the challenge with a menacing bark. I whistled, and he came running, the very embodiment of health and spirits. Marvelling at a dog's recuperative powers, I reopened the door. As I did so, I heard the stable clock striking. Three o'clock.
Twelve hours later a servant entered the library to arouse me from a refreshing sleep with the news that some one desired to speak with me upon the telephone. Heavily I made my way to the lobby and put the receiver to my ear, but the first sentence I heard drove the lingering rearguard of Slumber headlong from my system.
It was an Inspector of Police, speaking from Flail.
"I think we've got your case, sir. Pigskin, seventeen inches by ten, an' a blue line runnin' acrost it?"