"All, all? No, it is not all. What are you doing on my moor? What do you mean by digging here while the shooting season is on? No wonder we've had poor sport this morning, with you here to frighten every bird for a mile round. Didn't you hear our shots?"
Another figure appeared on the crest of the rise some two hundred yards away, and moved towards them.
"I believe I did, but they seemed a good distance off, and I was too busy to trouble. It is a serious matter, you see, to be short of peats for the winter, and a poor man must make the most of the weather."
The little man in knickerbockers began to jerk himself up and down. The stiff grey hair, close-cropped round the crown of his head, seemed to stick up straighter than ever. For the stranger was not only furious, but a little non-plussed; he could not reconcile Griff's speech and bearing with his occupation and his clothes.
"Do you know who I am, my man?" he sputtered at length.
"Rather too well. Captain Laverack, if I am not mistaken?" Griff's voice was quiet, but the smile had died from his lips, and his eyes showed hard.
"Yes, I am Captain Laverack. Perhaps you know, then, that I have rented the shooting over this moor?"
The little man was tempering wrath with an air of faint irony.
"I know that you played my father one of the lowest tricks I ever heard of. I am pleased to meet you, Captain Laverack; it will do me good to tell you what a rascally little cad I think you."
Laverack was speechless with amazement. Before he could find words, the second stranger had come up. Griff looked hard at the new-comer, and looked again; then he held out his hand.