After a few futile tugs at the handle he lifted the bonnet.
"But are you a mechanic?" said Violet; "because if you're not, please don't mess at her. Someone did once, and I had to get a man from Dublin afterwards."
"Someone," said Hook, "has been messing her a little, Ma'am. Poking their noses into what doesn't concern them," he added softly, his face hidden.
Violet Weston whispered to Gheena. The name Stafford was repeated more than once. And, as if conjured up by it, Stafford's two-seater purred round the bend and his brakes went on with a jar.
"Darby's wailing like Rachael, a few miles back," he said. "He had one couple of hounds with him, and he's thirsting for someone's blood. He's looking for hounds now. George Freyne I met at Ardhee Cross, swearing you hunted a fox on until he lost you, and everyone who could has gone home. I came on to take someone home if I could, and to find the hounds."
Hook took his head out of the bonnet and swung the handle of Violet's car again, starting it easily.
"Just a little adjustment," he said. "And if you leave your battery here, they'll run it and I'll fetch it to-morrow, Ma'am."
"I wish to goodness I was coming out again on Monday," grunted Brownlow, as he got into his car. "I can quite see where Dillon got so much experience now."
As General Brownlow slithered round stiff bends with constant inquiries as to who planned Irish roads, they came upon the drenched Master—it was raining again—collecting his pack just outside the bog. They had just run the hare back and eaten her.
"We'd have been up to Ardhee Cross if George had let 'em alone," he said bitterly. "Matilda says he cast them so beautifully, so he has gone home now, imagining himself John Peel and Ashton Smith rolled into one." Then he whispered to Barty, who pulled a hare's pate from Daisy's jaws, and Darby with a grin attached it to his saddle.