The meet of the Chingerley Hunt made a gay spectacle. The red coats of the men and the fascinating Parisian _toilettes_ of the ladies shone resplendently in the morning sunshine, while the champing of the horses' bits blended harmoniously with the choiring of numberless larks. Through the brilliant throng moved the Master, Sir Ernest Scrivener, bowing his greetings right and left as he passed. A few minutes before the hour fixed for the start the approach of a solitary horseman caused many eyebrows to lift in surprise, while Sir Ernest for an instant went white to the teeth. Then he laughed scornfully. "Why, Wonderson!" cried one of the Hunt. "What on earth are you doing here? I understood you were being married this morning." "That is so," replied Ralph easily. "But I see no reason why I shouldn't hunt first. DRAKE, you know, played bowls during a crisis, and NERO fiddled." As he spoke he watched Sir Ernest narrowly. The Master was making his way towards the iron cage in which the fox cub was imprisoned. Ralph edged his horse insensibly nearer. Amid the eager plaudits of the Hunt Sir Ernest leaned down from his saddle and raised the catch with a flourish. As he did so a packet of papers fell from his breast pocket. In a flash the released cub had pounced upon the papers and carried them off in his mouth. With a savage oath Sir Ernest plunged his spurs into his horse's flanks and gave chase. Ralph, perceiving instantly what had happened and guessing the all-important nature of the papers, was by him in a stride. Side by side the pair thundered along, while behind them the hounds and hunters streamed out in a confused and glittering medley. They were off! The hunt was up. Crouching low on the necks of their panting steeds, the two protagonists swept forward, plying remorselessly whip and spur, curb and snaffle. For a time neither gained an inch. Then, without warning, the fox doubled. With a single turn of his iron wrist Ralph wrenched his horse round without the loss of a second, but as he glanced back over his shoulder he perceived that the Master was only twenty yards behind. Ralph redoubled his efforts, his eyes glued to the white bundle clenched in the cub's dripping jaws. Through field and farmyard, by barn and byre, over rick and river, they sped, and ever the gap between the fox and Ralph lessened, while the gap between Ralph and Sir Ernest grew wider, and the savage baying of the hounds, mingled with the frenzied view halloos of the Hunt, receded further into the distance. Never had the Chingerley Hunt known such a chase. At last Ralph recognized that his chance had come. Leaning over his horse's ears, he took careful aim and slashed out with his long whip. Unerringly the lash coiled round the papers and jerked them from the fox's mouth. A single glance showed him that they were, as he had anticipated, the forged documents.