“Probably some tramp. I’ve had them in here more than once in cold weather,” said Leslie.
“It’s a tramp, right enough. Those are the rags they mostly bind their feet up with instead of socks. They stick to them, too, as a rule. Looks as if this chap must have been disturbed and left in a hurry. It’s probably his footsteps under the window. You don’t recall turning a tramp out of the barn any time lately?”
Leslie shook his head.
“I don’t think I ever have turned one off. I sometimes find their traces in the morning, but, even if I knew one of them was here, I should probably wink at it and let him stay. The fowls are all securely locked up and the tramps round here are a harmless lot, as a rule, so long as they don’t smoke in the straw and fire the old place. It wouldn’t be much loss if they did. It’s not even weather-tight.”
“You haven’t seen one hanging round the last day or so?”
“No. They don’t hang round much in the daytime, anyhow, because of the dog. They slip in at night after he’s chained up.”
“He’s a sound sleeper, that dog!” commented Brace. “We’ve made noise enough and he hasn’t stirred.”
“He’s not here. I had intended to go to London to-night, so I took him down to the Greys this morning.”
“And then didn’t go, after all?”
“I shouldn’t be here now if I had,” said Leslie wearily. “I had a wire saying I wasn’t wanted, after all.”