“Isobel,” I said, “I don't like this absence of pigs in this village. I am afraid there is something wrong here. I don't know what to make of it. It may be that hog-cholera is epidemic here the year 'round, just as San José scale kills all the apple trees. Have you seen a single pig?”
“Not one,” she admitted. “It looks as if there was a law against pigs.”
I stopped Bob, and looked at Isobel in amazement.
“Isobel!” I exclaimed. “You must be right! There must be a law against pigs! I do wish Chesterfield would stop yelling!”
“John,” said Isobel, “now that I come to think of it I do not believe I ever saw a pig in all Westcote. I wonder if we couldn't gag Chesterfield some way? If he howls like that every one will know we have a pig.”
I gagged the pig. I took Isobel's pink veil and wrapped it firmly around Chesterfield's nose, and brought the ends around his neck and tied them. Then I stuck his head into the sleeve of my rain coat and wrapped him in the coat, and tied it all in the linen dust robe. He was well gagged.
“Isobel,” I said, as I took up the reins again, “this is a serious matter. We will have to get rid of this pig, and we will have to do it quickly. I do not want to get into difficulties with the City of New York. Keeping a pig in the suburbs is evidently a crime, and it is a difficult crime to conceal. If I committed a murder and used ordinary precautions there might be no danger of detection, but a pig speaks for itself.”
“Chesterfield does,” said Isobel. “Do you suppose they will put you in jail?”
“Me in jail?” I ejaculated. “He is your pig, Isobel.”
“John,” she said generously, “I give Chesterfield to you.”