“Oh, Lom, don’t tell,” I panted. “There are poachers down in Long Spinney.”
“I know,” he said; “I heard ’em.”
“And we’re going down to tell Bob Hopley.”
“On the sly?”
“Yes; the Doctor don’t know. You won’t get us into a scrape?”
“Well, you know, I ought to; but—”
“You won’t, Lom?”
“Well, not this time. I was just going to bed when I heard them, and thought I’d run down and ask Bob Hopley if he wanted any help. Look here!”
He held up a big oaken stick, and, thoroughly in accord, we all started off at a trot, and in a very short time were in the lane where Bob Hopley’s lodge stood.
“He’s off somewhere at the other side of the estate,” whispered Lomax, “and they’ve watched him go. I say, don’t you boys come near if there’s a row.”