tones he had used before but in a singularly winning and pleasant
voice, cultivated and gentle, that was in odd contrast with his
rough and battered appearance. "The time, was that what you wanted
to know?"

"Yes, sir; please, sir," answered the child, who had shrunk back in
alarm at the violent start Dunn had given, but now seemed reassured
by his gentle and pleasant voice. "The right time," the little one
added almost instantly and with much emphasis on the "right."

Dunn gravely gave the required information with the assurance that
to the best of his belief it was "right," and the child thanked him
and scampered off.

Resuming his way, Dunn shook his head with an air of grave
dissatisfaction.

"Nerves all to pieces," he muttered. "That won't do. Hang it all,
the job's no worse than following a wounded tiger into the jungle,
and I've done that before now. Only then, of course, one knew what
to expect, whereas now--And I was a silly ass to lose my temper
with that boy at the station. You aren't making a very brilliant
start, Bobby, my boy."

By this time he had left the little town behind him and he was
walking along a very lonely and dark road.

On one side was a plantation of young trees, on the other there was
the open ground, covered with furze bush, of the village common.