"He did not tell me, sir," he answered. "It's a rum business, that's what
it is, no matter what way you look at it."

Grant, agreeably aware of the village constable's change of front,
accepted the olive branch readily.

"We're just going for a walk," he said. "If you have ten minutes to
spare, Mrs. Bates will find you some luncheon, I have no doubt."

"Well, sir, meals are a trifle irregular during a busy time like this,"
admitted Robinson, feeling that his luck was in, because tongues would
surely be loosened in the kitchen to an official guest introduced by the
master of the establishment. He was right. No member of the Bates family
dreamed of reticence, now that the household was restored to favor with
"the force." Before Robinson departed, he was full of information and
good food.

What more natural, then, an hour later, than that he should contrive to
meet Elkin as the horse-dealer was taking home a lively two-year-old pony
he had been "lungeing" on a strip of common opposite his house?

Each was eager to question the other, but Elkin opened fire.

"Anything fresh?" he cried. "You have a fair course now, Robinson. That
little London 'tec has bunked home."

"Has he?" In the language of the ring, Robinson thought fit to spar for
an opening.