“Yes, sir; there was a bit of a fight.”

“Well, if your mate has been fighting, is he bad enough to want a doctor?”

“He’s down bad, sir. It warn’t fisties.”

“Sticks?”

The man nodded.

“Anything worse?”

“Well, sir, I didn’t mean to speak about it, but it weer.”

“I think I have it,” thought Oldroyd. “The man has been shot in a poaching affray. Where is it?” he said aloud.

“Lars cottage through Lindham, sir. Tile roof.”

“Six miles away?”