Mr. Carrington chuckled and said: “I thought so. I thought we should come to that snare in time. Did you know there was a snare, Rupert?”
“Oh, no, he didn’t know anything about it!” Erebus broke in quickly. “We should never have thought of letting him into anything so dangerous! He’s so young!”
“I shall be eleven in a fortnight!” said Wiggins with some heat.
“You see, we wanted a fur stole at Barker’s in Rowington for a Christmas present for mother; and pheasants were the only way we could think of getting it,” said Erebus in a confidential tone.
“Light! Light at last!” cried Mr. Carrington; and he laughed gently. “Well, every one has been assaulted except the poacher; exquisitely Pomeranian! But it’s just as well that they have, or that ingenious brother of yours would be in a fine mess. As it is, I think we can go on teaching our young Pomeranian not to be so high-spirited.” He chuckled again.
He walked on briskly; and on the way to Little Deeping, he drew from Erebus the full story of their poaching. When they reached the village he did not go to his own house, but stopped at the garden gate of Mr. Tupping, the lawyer who had sold his practise at Rowington and had retired to Little Deeping. At his gate Mr. Carrington bade Erebus good afternoon and told her to tell the Terror not to thrust himself on the notice of any of Mr. D’Arcy Rosenheimer’s keepers who might be sent out to hunt for the real culprit. He would better keep quiet.
Erebus mounted her bicycle and rode quickly home. She found the Terror in the cats’ home, awaiting her impatiently.
“Well, did Wiggins get away all right?” he cried. “I passed Mr. Carrington; and I thought he’d see that they didn’t carry him off again.”
Erebus told him in terms of the warmest admiration how firmly Mr. Carrington had dealt with the Pomeranian foe.
“By Jove! That was ripping! I do wish I’d been there!” said the Terror. “He only hit him once, you say?”