faint sounds of
bibulous mirth, as the sacking party emptied the rooms of their
contents. In the fowl-run a hen was crooning sleepily in its coop. It
was a very soft, liquid, soothing sound.

Presently out came the invaders with their loot, one with a picture,
another with a vase, another bearing the gramophone upside down. They
were singing in many keys and times.

Then I heard somebody--Charlie again, it seemed to me--propose a raid
on the fowl-run.

The fowls had had their moments of unrest since they had been our
property, but what they had gone through with us was peace compared
with what befell them then. Not even on the second evening of our
visit, when we had run unmeasured miles in pursuit of them, had there
been such confusion. Roused abruptly from their beauty-sleep they fled
in all directions. Their pursuers, roaring with laughter, staggered
after them. They tumbled over one another. The summer evening was made
hideous with the noise of them.

"Disgraceful, sir. Is it not disgraceful!" said a voice in my ear.

The young man from Whiteley's stood beside me. He did not look happy.
His forehead was damp. Somebody seemed to have stepped on his hat, and
his coat was smeared with mould.

I was turning to answer him when from the dusk in the direction of the
house came a sudden roar. A passionate appeal to the world in general
to tell the speaker what all this meant.

There was only one man of my acquaintance with a voice like that.

I walked without hurry towards him.

"Good evening, Ukridge," I said.

CHAPTER XXIII

AFTER THE STORM

A yell of welcome drowned the tumult of the looters.

"Is that you, Garny, old horse? What's up? What's the matter? Has
everyone gone mad? Who are those infernal scoundrels in the fowl-run?
What are they doing? What's been happening?"

"I have been entertaining a little meeting of your creditors," I said.
"And now they are entertaining themselves."

"But what did you let them do it for?"

"What is one amongst so many?"

"Well, 'pon my Sam," moaned Ukridge, as, her sardonic calm laid aside,
that sinister hen which we called Aunt Elizabeth flashed past us
pursued by the whiskered criminal, "it's a little hard! I can't go away
for a day--"

"You certainly can't! You're right there. You can't go away without a
word--"

"Without a word? What do you mean? Garny, old boy, pull yourself
together. You're over-excited. Do you mean to tell me you didn't get my
note