einer would account for such recklessness.

"Guineas," said Dan Gallaher.

It was his turn to say guineas now, and he repeated the word without
faltering until the price rose to fifty pounds. Mr. Robinson took
off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Never in all his
experience of auctions had he heard bidding like this. He lit a fresh
cigarette, holding the match in fingers which trembled visibly.

"You will understand, gentlemen, that I am only selling the hay, not the
barn or the stable."

"Guineas," said Dan Gallaher.

It was the last bid. As he made it Colonel Eden turned and walked out
of the group round the auctioneer. James McNiece took his pipe from his
pocket and filled it slowly.

"The hay is yours, Mr. Gallaher," said the auctioneer.

Dan Gallaher, having secured the hay, left the yard. He found his horse,
which he had tethered to a tree, and mounted. He rode slowly down the
rough lane which led from the farm. At the gate leading to the high road
the police sergeant stopped him.

"If you wouldn't mind waiting a minute, Mr. Gallaher," said the
sergeant, "the D.I. would like to speak to you."

"What about?" said Gallaher.

The sergeant winked ponderously.

"It might be," he said, "about the hay you're just after buying."

"If he wants it," said Gallaher, "he can have it, and I'll deliver it to
him at his own home at half the price I paid for it."

The District Inspector, smiling and tapping his gaiters with a riding
switch, explained in a few words that he did not want the hay and did
not intend to pay for it.

"I'm taking over the contents of that loft," he said, "in the name of
the Government under the provisions of D.O.R.A."

"I don't know," said Gallaher, "that you've any right to be taking over
what I've bought in that kind of way, and what's more you'll not be
able to do it without you show me a proper order in writing, signed by a
magistrate."

"If I were you," said the D.I., "I wouldn't insist on any kind of legal
trial about that hay. At present there's no evidence against you, Mr.
Gallaher, except that you paid a perfectly absurd price for some hay
that you didn't want, and I'm not inclined to press the matter now
I've got what I wanted; but if you insist on dragging the matter into
Court----"

"I do not," said Gallaher.

At ten o'clock that evening Dan Gallaher and James McNiece sat together
in the private room behind the bar of Sam Twining's public-house. The
house