“We got it, though—everything except foxes. Have you seen May Queen's nose?” said the Inspector.
“And Mystery's dead. We'll keep 'em coupled next time till we get well in among the crops. I say, what a babbling body-snatcher that Beagle-boy is! Ought to be drowned!”
“They bury people so damn casual hereabouts. Give him another chance,” the Inspector pleaded, not knowing that he should live to repent most bitterly.
“Talkin' of chances,” said the Governor, “this Sheikh lies about his barley bein' a failure. If it's high enough to hide a hound at this time of year, it's all right. And he wants a fifty per cent remission, you said?”
“You didn't go on past the melon patch where I tried to turn Wanderer. It's all burned up from there on to the desert. His other water-wheel has broken down, too,” the Inspector replied.
“Very good. We'll split the difference and allow him twenty-five per cent off. Where'll we meet to-morrow?”
“There's some trouble among the villages down the river about their land-titles. It's good goin' ground there, too,” the Inspector said.
The next meet, then, was some twenty miles down the river, and the pack were not enlarged till they were fairly among the fields. Abu Hussein was there in force—four of him. Four delirious hunts of four minutes each—four hounds per fox—ended in four earths just above the river. All the village looked on.
“We forgot about the earths. The banks are riddled with 'em. This'll defeat us,” said the Inspector.
“Wait a moment!” The Governor drew forth a sneezing hound. “I've just remembered I'm Governor of these parts.”