"Yes, I like it," Dot said, and hurriedly disappeared before Hill could
intervene.

Jack turned to his wife. "Now, missis! Go and make ready upstairs! It's
only a little room, Fletcher, but it's snug. That's the way," as his wife
followed Dot's example. "Now--quick, man! I want a word with you."

"Obviously," said the magistrate, dryly. "You needn't say it, thanks all
the same. I'll leave that drink till--afterwards."

He straightened his tall figure with an instinctive bracing of the
shoulders, and turned to the door.

Jack watched him go with a smile that was not untinged with anxiety, and
lifted his glass as the door closed.

"You've got the cards, old feller," he said. "May you play 'em well!"

Fletcher Hill stepped forth into the moonlit night and stood still. It
had been a swift maneuvre on Jack's part, and it might have disconcerted
a younger man and driven him into ill-considered action. But it was not
this man's nature to act upon impulse. His caution was well known. It had
been his safeguard in many a difficulty. It stood him in good stead now.

So for a space he remained, looking out over the widespread grasslands,
his grim face oddly softened and made human. He was no longer an
official, but a man, with feelings rendered all the keener for the
habitual restraint with which he masked them.