The Pothunters

ntangling himself carefully from t

estion before himself as an impartial judge, as who should say: 'No

that, 'no, not hurt, thank you. Not much, that is,' he added with the air of one who thinks it

into the road like that,' said Barrett. '

the man. 'Riding wrong sid

or l

lent t

es

tell him the true facts of the case. Besides, it might do something towards removing

nfidence, 'it was rather a close thi

man. 'Thought s

es

occurred to you--if there were no trespassers, there would be no need fo

hat they did not v

professions. Not po

hey have survived the stormy times through which they had been passing? He heaved a sigh of relief as he sa

hat? I di

oing right for St

t deadly error mortal man can make, with the exception of

d the man. 'Is

I'm going there myself.

ction in his voice. 'Going there yourself,

r form-beak if I'm a scholar. Oh.

hool man would talk of scholars. And yet he was emphatically not a bargee. Barr

ce there, hasn't there?

But how o

here to look into the matter. Detective. Name, Roberts, Scotland Yard. Now we know each other, and if you can t

is. That, at least, was what ought to take place. But Barrett's experience of life, short as it was, had taught him the difference between the ideal and the real. The real, he suspected, would in this case be painful. Certain facts would come to light. When had he found the cups? About four in the afternoon? Oh. Roll-call took place at four in the afternoon. How came it that he was not at roll-call? Furthermore, how came it that he was marked on the list as having answered his name at that ceremony? Where had he found the cups? In a hollow tree? Just so. Where was the hollow tree? In Sir Alfred Venner's woods. Did he know that Sir Alfred Venner's woods were out of bounds? Did he know that, in consequence

, which a certain burglar, named, singularly enough, Roberts, had fired at him from a distance of five yards. The gentleman in question, who, the detective hastened to inform Barrett, was no relation of his, though owning the same name, happened to be a poor marksman and only scored a bad outer, assuming the detective's face to have been the bull. He also turned up his cuff to show a larger scar. This was another testimonial

as so inflated with news that any attempt to keep it in might have serious

instead of being, as it had been, the finest afternoon of the whole term. In a word, and not to put too fine a point on the matter, he had been frousting, and consequently was feeling dull and sleepy, and generally unde

astly book away. My aunt, I

e, politely, 'w

gs in the

e. For the first time since they had had their little

iot!' h

happy day. Like Rosherville. Jove, it's worth going th

t keepers

em chased me like good

ay all righ

? You know that rotter Plunkett. Used to be

es

places to sleep in, where you can't go a couple of yards without running into a keeper! He hadn't even the sense to run. I yelled to him to look out, and the

Old Man's on to trespassing like tar. I say, think

recognized me. Probably doesn't know me by sight, an

ly narrow shave. An

bit. That's to say, no,

iskly. 'None of your beast

wear you'll k

urse I

word of

began Reade in

y. The thing is, though, it's so fri

? Buc

ieve me, of course, bu

e ga

ed. 'The pot f

hundred yards. Both o

? What have you

lded his tal

for cutting roll-call, and going out of bounds. And then, while I'm waiting and wondering what to do, and

perp

des, there's one consolation. This Plunkett business'll make every keeper in the Dingle twi

ething in that,'

ou can do,'

us letter to the Old Man explai

s get traced to the person who wrote them. Or

aid Barret

ed, that very few people do it. Barrett, however, was obliged to by necessity. He had a go

ey, 'have a good

've got an

an. Wha

I know you haven'

ee anything of the

oftener than

idn't b

them saw me, but I

place pret

tty

there

t v

at do you say to a small ice?

Are you

e word for it.

out fairly s

e sovereign, cash. He's a

ems,' sai

thing which it would in all probability have ceased to be, had he been rash enough to confide it to K. St H. Grey, who, whatever his othe