"But it is not easy, my lord, to procure such an amount at short notice," expostulated the official. "Oh, then, get him a waggon-load or two as a first course, and we'll find something else a little later." "It shall be procured at once. I--er--trust your lordship will not take it amiss, since you will not dine with me, if I offer you a glass of--shall we say champagne?" "With pleasure," said Scarsdale. "And her ladyship?" looking towards the carriage. Mrs. Allingford bowed, and the mayor whispered a few words in mine host's ear. Just at that moment, as Scarsdale was drawing his first easy breath, feeling at last that things were going smoothly, the very worst _contretemps_ that could possibly happen occurred. Two dusty figures shambled around the corner of a neighbouring street into the square, and one of them in a high-pitched voice, that was distinctly heard by every member of the crowd, exclaimed: "Hi, there! What are you doing with my elephant?" Scarsdale swung round to face the newcomers, a premonition of coming evil strong upon him, though a careful inspection assured him that he knew them not; yet conviction hang in every note of that challenge. They were, in a word, the owner of elephants and the unregenerate Dick. From early dawn they had made their way across country, in as straight a line as possible from Winchester to Salisbury, sometimes on foot and sometimes in such conveyances as they could hire from place to place; but ever buoyed up by hope--hope of finding that which was lost; hope of restoring elephants to their rightful owners; hope of clearing a brother's name. And here, unexpectedly, they had come upon the object of their search in the hands of total strangers. "Who the devil are you?" cried Scarsdale hotly, scenting danger, and determined to face the worst at once. "I don't know you." "I'm Richard Allingford," said the larger of the two men, pushing forward till he faced the bewildered Englishman. At this point Scarsdale, whose coolness alone could have saved the situation, lost his head. His temper, which had been severely tried by the vicissitudes of the day, gave way in the presence of the man whose escapades had caused him such needless suffering and indignity, and, regardless of results, he spoke his mind. "So you're Richard Allingford, are you? Then allow me to tell you that you are the prettiest scoundrel that I've run across in a long time! Curse you! Do you know I've spent two days, this week, in Winchester jail on your account?" A broad grin broke over Richard's face. "I guess you must be Scarsdale," he said. "But what in thunder are you doing with my brother's elephant?" "It's mine!" arose the shrill voice of his companion. "I tell you he stole it from me!" This was too much for Mrs. Allingford, and, to make a bad matter worse, she cried from the carriage: "The Consul did not steal the elephant! It is his property, and I'm his wife!" A voice from the crowd chimed in: