admitted Michael Ragstroar. Her father
had drawn his last quart for a customer many long years ago, and his
right-hand half was passing the last days of its life in a bedroom
upstairs. A nonagenarian paralysed all down one side may be described as
we have described Mr. Hawkins. He was still able to see dimly, with one
eye, the glorious series of sporting prints that lined the walls of his
room; and such pulses as he had left were stirred with momentary
enthusiasm when the Pytchley Hunt reached the surviving half of his
understanding. The other half of him had lived, and seemed to have died,
years ago. The two halves may have taken too much when they were able to
move about together and get at it--too much brandy, rum, whisky; too
many short nips and long nips--too cordial cordials. Perhaps his
daughter took the right quantity of all these to a nicety, but
appearances were against her. She was a woman of the type that must have
been recognised in its girlhood as stunning, or ripping, by the then
frequenters of the bar of The Pigeons, and which now was reluctant to
admit that its powers to rip or stun were on the wane at forty. It was
that of an inflamed blonde putting on flesh, which meant to have
business relations with dropsy later on, unless--which seemed
unlikely--its owner should discontinue her present one with those nips
and cordials. She had no misgivings, so far, on this point; nor any,
apparently, about the seductive roll of a really fine pair of blue eyes.
While as for her hair, the bulk and number of the curl-papers it was
still screwed up in spoke volumes of what its release would reveal to an
astonished Sunday afternoon when its hour should come--not far off now.

There was a man in the darkened bar, smoking a long clay. Michael felt
as if he knew him as soon as he set eyes on him, but it was not till the
pipe was out of his mouth that he saw who he was. He had been ascribing
to the weight or pressure of the pipe the face-twist which, when it was
removed, showed as a slight distortion. It was the man he had seen
twice, once in the garden he had just left, and once at Sapps Court.
Michael considered that he was entitled to a gratuity from this man,
having interpreted his language as a promise to that effect, and having
received nothing so far.

He was not a diffident or timid character, as we know. "Seen you afore,
guv'nor!" was his greeting.

The man gave a start, breaking his pipe in three pieces, but ge