"Nothing," was the response, uttered in a tone of deep despondency.
"We have even tried bloodhounds; but without result."
"And now I want you to take up the matter, and don't spare expense," burst out Sir John, unable to contain himself longer.
"I will consider the proposal and let you know," said Malcolm Sage, evenly. "As it is, my time is fully occupied at present; but later——" He never lost an opportunity of resenting aggression by emphasising the democratic tendency of the times. Mr. Llewellyn John had called it "incipient Bolshevism."
"Later!" cried Sir John in consternation. "Why, dammit, sir! there won't be an animal left in the county. This thing has been going on for two years now, and those damn fools at Scotland Yard——"
"If it were not for Scotland Yard," said Malcolm Sage quietly, as he proceeded to shingle the roof of the church, the graveyard having proved a failure, "we should probably have to sleep at night with pistols under our pillows."
"Eh!" Sir John looked across at him with a startled expression.
"Scotland Yard is the head-quarters of the most efficient and highly-organised police force in the world," was the quiet reply.
"But, dammit! if they're so clever why don't they put a stop to this torturing of poor dumb beasts?" cried the general indignantly. "I've shown them the man. It's Hinds; I know it. I've just been to see that fellow Wensdale. Why, dammit! he ought to be cashiered, and I told him so."
"Who is Hinds?" Malcolm Sage addressed the question to Mr. Callice.
"He used to be Sir John's head gamekeeper——"