"Poachin'," said Grim, solemnly.
"What!" exclaimed the other, with breathless interest.
"Dunno, quite," said Grim; "but that young ass dropped a cartridge from his pocket the other day."
"There's nothing to poach here, Grimmy."
"There's Pettigrew's pheasants," said Grim, mysteriously.
"But you don't shoot them in March."
"We don't, Poulett, but poachers do."
"Tisn't likely that Acton——"
"Well, don't know," said Rogers, reflectively. "He's lived so long in France, where they shoot robins and nightingales, that he'll not know."
"But Bourne would."