It now appeared, however, that the Officer had been waiting behind the
dyke rather longer than we knew. "I myself," he said firmly, "saw you
bring down a cock pheasant at the beginning of the last beat."

Walter consulted the paper in his hand. "I observe," he said, "that
this licence (or certificate) relates to killing game. There is
nothing said of bringing it down. I may, as you say, have induced a
cock pheasant to descend. I certainly didn't kill him. As a matter of
fact he was lightly touched on the wing, and he ran like a hare."

"He's in that patch of bracken there," said the Officer. "If you will
send a keeper and a dog with me--"

"No, I can't do that," said Walter, "unless you can show me a written
authority empowering you, in the KING's name, to borrow keepers and
dogs."

It was then that the fun began. The Officer went off like a shot
up the hillside, started the old cock, chased him up the ditch and
through the hedge, and finally, to everyone's surprise and delight,
collared him in a corner of the dyke. There were loud cheers from the
enthusiastic crowd, but they were cut short by a sharp warning from
Walter.

"Be careful how you handle that bird, Sir!" he cried. "If anything
happens to him I shall hold you responsible. I have no reason to
believe that you hold a licence (or certificate) to kill game. If he
suffers a mortal injury I shall report you."