“By Jove; if he’d only go down home again and get up to some of his poaching tricks. I tell you what, Magnus, old man,” he said, setting his teeth, “I hope fate will never place me with my men down at Gatley, going to meet a poaching party led by Jock Morrison. If she does—well—”
“Well what?”
“I hope I sha’n’t have a gun in my hand.”
“You must persuade Mr Mallow to leave here.”
“What I just as he has come down for Julia’s health. No, my dear fellow, you might just as well try to move a rock. But I say, our first attempt at playing detectives don’t seem to have been much of a success.”
“No,” said Magnus, dreamily. “Let’s get back.”
“What are you thinking about, old man,” said Artingale, after a pause.
“I was thinking whether the fellow could be bribed to go away.”
“Oh, yes, easily,” said Artingale, “and he’d go and come back next week, and levy blackmail wherever the family went, while the very fact of his having been paid off would give the affair an ugly look if ever we had occasion to drag the scoundrel before the judge.”
“Then what is to be done?” said Magnus, angrily, “the police must be consulted.”