All shook their heads.
“Jenkins, open that bird’s head. I think the shot that killed it will be found in the brain.”
Jenkins obeyed, using a penknife cleverly enough. Pressed against the bone of the skull he found the shot.
“No. 3 it is, sure enough, my lord,” he said.
“You will agree that settles the matter, Sir Junius,” said Lord Ragnall. “And now, as a bet has been made here it had better be paid.”
“I have not enough money on me,” said Van Koop sulkily.
“I think your banker is mine,” said Lord Ragnall quietly, “so you can write a cheque in the house. Come in, all of you, it is cold in this wind.”
So we went into the smoking-room, and Lord Ragnall, who, I could see, was annoyed, instantly fetched a blank cheque from his study and handed it to Van Koop in rather a pointed manner.
He took it, and turning to me, said:
“I remember the capital sum, but how much is the interest? Sorry to trouble you, but I am not very good at figures.”