CHAPTER XX
INVESTIGATIONS
"To come straight to the point, my dear Entwistle," said Peter Barcroft. "I may say that I have two reasons for looking you up. The first is purely a matter of form—to inquire after your injured ankle. Judging by the way in which you crossed the room I think I am right in concluding that your recovery has been rapid and, I hope, permanent. No, don't limp, old man. That won't do. The second is to make inquiries respecting a donkey—to wit, one Butterfly."
"Oh!" remarked Entwistle. "Anything wrong? What are the symptoms?"
"A bad form of absentitis," replied Peter grimly. "Don't you know?"
The vet shook his head.
"Continue," he said, as he handed his tobacco-pouch to his caller.
"The brute never came back. In his hurry my son forgot to mention it—he was recalled by wire, and the young bounder never even dropped me a postcard. Now I'm on Butterfly's track. Can you assist me in my quest?"
"Sorry," replied Entwistle, taking the pouch and deliberately filling his briar. "Stay. I did mention to Billy that the animal ought to be shod. Why not inquire of the various blacksmiths on the way to Tarleigh? Let me see: there's Schofield's in Cook Street, Barnes's in Forge Lane, and Thomas's in Dyke Street—they are all just off Chumley Old Road. How did you come into Barborough—by train?"
"No, I walked as far as the tram terminus," replied Barcroft Senior.