The accents of truth are rarely to be mistaken, and Val was certain he
heard them now. So far, he believed the man; and from that moment
dismissed the doubt from his mind, if indeed he had not dismissed it
before.

"Do you know who did fire the shot?"

"I do not; I was not out at all that night. Calne pitched upon me,
because there was no one else in particular to pitch upon. A dozen
poachers were in the fray, most of them with guns; little wonder the
random shot from one should have found a mark. I know nothing more
certain than that, so help--"

"That will do," interrupted Mr. Elster, arresting what might be coming;
for he disliked strong language. "I believe you fully, Pike. What part of
the country were you born in?"

"London. Born and bred in it."

"That I do not believe," he said frankly. "Your accent is not that of a
Londoner."

"As you will, sir," returned Pike. "My mother was from Devonshire; but I
was born and bred in London. I recognized that one with the writ for a
fellow cockney at once; and for what he was, too--a sheriffs officer.
Shouldn't be surprised but I knew him for one years ago."

Val Elster dropped a coin into the man's hand, and bade him good morning.
Pike touched his wide-awake, and reiterated his intention of "dodging the
enemy." But, as Mr. Elster cautiously pursued his way, the face he had