'Yes. Don't make a row. We're trespassing.'
They moved on in silence. Half-way through the wood Charteris caught his foot in a hole and fell.
'Hurt?' said Tony.
'Only in spirit, thanks. The absolute dashed foolishness of this is being rapidly borne in upon me, Tony. What is the good of it? We shan't find him here.'
Tony put his foot down upon these opinions with exemplary promptitude.
'We must go on trying. Hang it all, if it comes to the worst, it's better than frousting indoors.'
'Tony, you're a philosopher. Lead on, Macduff.'
Tony was about to do so, when a form appeared in front of him, blocking the way. He flashed his lamp at the form, and the form, prefacing its remarks with a good, honest swearword—of a variety peculiar to that part of the country—requested him, without any affectation of ceremonious courtesy, to take his something-or-other lamp out of his (the form's) what's-its-named face, and state his business briefly.
'Surely I know that voice,' said Charteris. 'Archibald, my long-lost brother.'
The keeper failed to understand him, and said so tersely.