CHAPTER II

ALLAN MAKES A BET

On the following morning Scroope and I arrived at Castle Ragnall at
or about a quarter to ten. On our way we stopped to pick up my three
hundred and fifty cartridges. I had to pay something over three solid
sovereigns for them, as in those days such things were dear, which
showed me that I was not going to get my lesson in English pheasant
shooting for nothing. The gunsmith, however, to whom Scroope gave a lift
in his cart to the castle, impressed upon me that they were dirt cheap,
since he and his assistant had sat up most of the night loading them
with my special No. 3 shot.

As I climbed out of the vehicle a splendid-looking and portly person,
arrayed in a velvet coat and a scarlet waistcoat, approached with
the air of an emperor, followed by an individual in whom I recognized
Charles, carrying a gun under each arm.

"That's the head-keeper," whispered Scroope; "mind you treat him
respectfully."

Much alarmed, I took off my hat and waited.

"Do I speak to Mr. Allan Quatermain?" said his majesty in a deep and
rumbling voice, surveying me the while with a cold and disapproving eye.