"Go on, boy! Finish!" commanded Sir Beverley. "I detest a sentence left
in the middle."

"I was only thinking," said Piers deliberately, "that hanging in my
opinion is much the easier sentence of the two. I should ask to be hanged
if I were Adderley."

"Would you indeed?" Sir Beverley sounded supremely contemptuous.

But Piers did not seem to notice. "Besides, there are so many
murderers in the world," he said, "though it's only the few who get
punished. I'm sorry for the few myself. Its damned bad luck, human
nature being what it is."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Sir Beverley.

"All right; let's talk about something else," said Piers. "Caesar had a
glorious mill with that Irish terrier brute at the Vicarage this
afternoon. I couldn't separate 'em, so I just joined in. We'd have been
at it now if we had been left to our own devices." He broke into his
sudden boyish laugh. "But a kind lady came out of the Vicarage garden and
flung the contents of a bedroom jug over the three of us. Rather plucky
of her, what? I'm afraid I wasn't over-complimentary at the moment, but
I've had time since to appreciate her tact and presence of mind. I'm
going over to thank her to-morrow."

"Who was it?" growled Sir Beverley suspiciously. "Not that little white
owl, Mrs. Lorimer?"

"Mrs. Lorimer! Great Scott, no! She'd have squealed and run to the