Hurrying downstairs and outside into the moonlit night, he found the officer. None of the hotel folk had turned out at the ring of the bell. Bobby, in a muted voice and beneath the stars, listened to the tale of the Law, then he tried corruption.
Useless. Constable Copper, though he might be no more good than a blind horse, according to Horn, was incorruptible yet consolatory.
"It'll only be a couple of quid fine," said he. "Maybe not that, seeing what he is and it was done for a lark. Horn will get it in the neck, but not him. He's at my house now, and you can have him back if you'll go bail he won't get loose again. He's a nice old gentleman, but a bit peculiar, I think."
Constable Copper seemed quite light-hearted over the matter, and to think little of it as an offence. A couple of quid would cover it! He did not, perhaps, appreciate fully the light and shade of the situation—a J.P. and member of the Athenæum and of the Society of Antiquaries brought up for poaching in company with an evil character named Horn!
Neither did Simon, whom they found seated on the side of the table in the Coppers' sitting-room talking to Mrs. Copper, who was wrapped in a shawl.
He went back to the hotel with them rather silent but not depressed; he tried, indeed, to talk and laugh over the affair. This was the last straw, and Bobby burst out, giving him a "jawing" complete and of the first pattern. Then they saw him to bed and put out the light.
At breakfast he was quite himself again, and the summons which arrived at eleven o'clock was not shown to him. No one knew of the affair with the exception of the whole village, all the hotel servants, Bobby and Mudd.
The distracted Mudd spent the morning walking about, hither and thither, trying to collect his wits and make a plan. Simon had given his name, of course, though indeed it did not matter much as he was a resident at the hotel. It was impossible to deport him or move him or pretend he was ill; nothing was possible but the bench of magistrates—Colonel Salmon presiding—and Publicity.
At half-past eleven or quarter to twelve he sent the despairing message to Oppenshaw; then he collapsed into a cold sort of resignation with hot fits at times.