"Admitted," replied Barcroft. "But if you are in need of a wholesome tonic, might I suggest an hour or so of young Farrar's or young Greenwood's company. You'll learn something of what's doing, Entwistle. You'll have to drag it from them, but putting two and two together you'll find that the Navy is still the mainstay of the Empire."
"Pity, then, that the man-in-the-street hasn't an opportunity of finding it out," growled Barcroft's companion.
"D'ye mind if I open this window? Jolly warm for the time of year, isn't it?"
Entwistle walked to the window. Then, with his hand on the catch, he exclaimed:
"My word, Barcroft! Something's happened. There's a stretcher being carried up the drive."
Peter was by his friend's side in an instant. He, too, could see the throng of country folk around the gate as they parted to allow the improvised stretcher to pass.
"It's not Miss Greenwood," he decided, giving voice to his thoughts, and not heeding his companion's presence. "Nor Eric.... And there's Farrar. Now, who have they shot?"
"Perhaps no one," remarked Entwistle. "An accident entirely unconnected with the guns."
He threw open the French window and the two men hurried to meet the stretcher, forestalled, however, by Mr. Greenwood, who, in his agitation, had forgotten that he was shouldering a huge wood-cutter's axe and bore a resemblance to the Lord High Executioner.
"What has happened?" demanded Mr. Greenwood.