Holes interrupted him.
"Don't say any more," he broke in. "You've come to tell us about the dreadful poaching affray in Hagley Wood. I know all about it, and tired as I am I'll help you to find the criminals."
It was amusing to watch the Sergeant's face. He was ordinarily an unemotional man, but as Holes spoke to him he grew purple with astonishment.
"Beggin' your pardon, Sir," he said; "I didn't know about no——"
"My name is Holes," said my friend calmly.
"What, Mr. Picklock Holes, the famous detective?"
"The same, at your service; but we are wasting time. Let us be off."
The night was cold, and a few drops of rain were falling. As we walked along the lane Holes drew from the Sergeant all the information he wanted as to the number of pheasants on the Duke's estate, the extent of his cellars, his rent-roll, and the name of his London tailor. Bluff dropped behind after this cross-examination with a puzzled expression, and whispered to me:
"A wonderful man that Mister Holes. Now how did he know about this 'ere poaching business? I knew nothing about it. Why I come to you, Sir, to talk about that retriever dog you lost."
"Hush," I said; "say nothing. It would only annoy Holes, and interfere with his inductions. He knows his own business best." Sergeant Bluff gave a grumbling assent, and in another moment we entered the great gate of Fourcastle Towers, and were ushered into the hall, where the Duke was waiting to receive us.