“I must ask your men. Will you summon them?”
“The blacks too?” said Nic.
“Yes, all of them, please.”
“Hi, Sam!” cried Nic, as the old man banged to and fastened the door where he had shut up the dogs. “Call Brookes and the blacks; then come here.”
“Right, sir,” said the old man; and Mr Dillon went on:
“He got away somehow, and the dogs were after him till the storm spoiled the scent.”
“Then you can’t flog him,” said Nic in triumph.
“Not this morning, of course,” said Mr Dillon good humouredly. “All right, my young friend, you’ll come round to my way of thinking.”
“Never,” said Nic firmly.
“That’s a long time, squire. But don’t you look so satisfied. You really do not imagine that our friend can get away?”