“Just as well I didn’t waste time, then. I dropped the machine over somehow and went into the road pretty near head-first; some branch or something got my ankle at the last moment. Anyhow, there I was out of the wood, and seldom more thankful or more generally sore. Then came the job of mending my punctures. I had a good outfit and I’m not at all bad at the business; but this was an absolutely hopeless case. It was seven when I got out of the wood, and I spent fifty minutes over one tyre. As fast as I found a hole and put on a patch, and blew it up, it went flat again. So I made up my mind to walk. That hill isn’t three miles away, is it?” “Not more across country, but nearer six by road.” “I thought it must be. I thought I couldn’t have taken well over the hour over less than five miles, even leading a bike. Well, there’s my story: where’s yours and Patten’s?” “Mine? I’ve no story,” said the Squire. “But you weren’t very far out when you thought you were in a graveyard. There must be a good few of them up there, Patten, don’t you think? They left ’em there when they fell to bits, I fancy.” Patten nodded, too much interested to speak. “Don’t,” said Fanshawe. “Now then, Patten,” said the Squire, “you’ve heard what sort of a time Mr Fanshawe’s been having. What do you make of it? Anything to do with Mr Baxter? Fill yourself a glass of port, and tell us.” “Ah, that done me good, Master Henry,” said Patten, after absorbing what was before him. “If you really wish to know what were in my thoughts, my answer would be clear in the affirmative. Yes,” he went on, warming to his work, “I should say as Mr Fanshawe’s experience of to-day were very largely doo to the person you named. And I think, Master Henry, as I have some title to speak, in view of me ’aving been many years on speaking terms with him, and swore in to be jury on the Coroner’s inquest near this time ten years ago, you being then, if you carry your mind back, Master Henry, travelling abroad, and no one ’ere to represent the family.” “Inquest?” said Fanshawe. “An inquest on Mr Baxter, was there?” “Yes, sir, on--on that very person. The facts as led up to that occurrence was these. The deceased was, as you may have gathered, a very peculiar individual in ’is ’abits--in my idear, at least, but all must speak as they find. He lived very much to himself, without neither chick nor child, as the saying is. And how he passed away his time was what very few could orfer a guess at.” “He lived unknown, and few could know when Baxter ceased to be,” said the Squire to his pipe.