He sat back and looked at me proudly.
"By Jove, Billy!" I cried. "You're a wonder! How did you do it?"
"Well, after the little confab was over, and your cousin had cleared off into the house, I gave old Dot-and-carry-one time to get back into the road, and then I followed him. I had to give him a couple of hundred yards or so, or he might have tumbled to it. He went straight back to Woodford, and, as luck would have it, I was just in time to see him turn into a pub.—not the Plough; another one this side of it. I followed him in, and found him shifting raw brandy. He's a Dago right enough—there's no question about it."
"Did you speak to him?" I asked.
Billy shook his head. "I thought it best to lie low. The landlord, who was a talkative sort of ass, seemed to know him, so I waited a bit, and, after our pal had cleared off, I asked who he was. 'Oh,' said the landlord, 'that's an Eyetalian gentleman, Moosyer Berretti. He's just taken the Hollies, Colonel Paton's house, for some months. Moved in yesterday, I believe. Nice, pleasant-spoken gent he is, too."
"There's room for all opinions," I said, with a laugh. "Milford didn't fancy him at all."
"The landlord thought no end of him," said Billy. "In fact, he got quite confidential. His brother, it seems, was gardener at the Hollies, so of course he knew all about it. There's Dot-and-carry-one, and a lady he calls his wife, and another chap who arrived to-day. I asked whether he had a broken nose, and he said no; so it can't be Francis."
"I expect it's the gentleman I owe this stiff shoulder to," I said. "Nice little family party, anyway. Where is the Hollies?"
Billy jerked his head up the road. "Quite close," he said, "just outside Woodford. A small white house on the left. I mean to inspect it to-night." Then he paused. "Jack," he said, "I'm not quite happy about this shooting business."
"Neither am I," I answered truthfully.