"Into this pipe here, which goes under ground and carries it to the house, for use in the kitchen. So there's no way of drinking, seeing that we were there and that the spring is twenty yards from the house." "Hasn't it rained during the last four weeks?" "Not once: I've told you that already." The stranger went to the spring and examined it. The trough was formed of a few boards of wood joined together just above the ground; and the water ran through it, slow and clear. "The water's not more than a foot deep, is it?" he asked. In order to measure it, he picked up from the grass a straw which he dipped into the pool. But, as he was stooping, he suddenly broke off and looked around him. "Oh, how funny!" he said, bursting into a peal of laughter. "Why, what's the matter?" spluttered old Goussot, rushing toward the pool, as though a man could have lain hidden between those narrow boards. And Mother Goussot clasped her hands. "What is it? Have you seen him? Where is he?" "Neither in it nor under it," replied the stranger, who was still laughing. He made for the house, eagerly followed by the farmer, the old woman and the four sons. The inn-keeper was there also, as were the people from the inn who had been watching the stranger's movements. And there was a dead silence, while they waited for the extraordinary disclosure. "It's as I thought," he said, with an amused expression. "The old chap had to quench his thirst somewhere; and, as there was only the spring...." "Oh, but look here," growled Farmer Goussot, "we should have seen him!" "It was at night." "We should have heard him ... and seen him too, as we were close by." "So was he." "And he drank the water from the pool?" "Yes." "How?" "From a little way off." "With what?" "With this." And the stranger showed the straw which he had picked up: "There, here's the straw for the customer's long drink. You will see, there's more of it than usual: in fact, it is made of three straws stuck into one another. That was the first thing I noticed: those three straws fastened together. The proof is conclusive." "But, hang it all, the proof of what?" cried Farmer Goussot, irritably. The stranger took a shotgun from the rack. "Is it loaded?" he asked. "Yes," said the youngest of the brothers. "I use it to kill the sparrows with, for fun. It's small shot." "Capital! A peppering where it won't hurt him will do the trick." His face suddenly assumed a masterful look. He gripped the farmer by the arm and rapped out, in an imperious tone: "Listen to me, Farmer Goussot. I'm not here to do policeman's work; and I won't have the poor beggar locked up at any price. Four weeks of starvation and fright is good enough for anybody. So you've got to swear to me, you and your sons, that you'll let him off without hurting him." "He must hand over the money!" "Well, of course. Do you swear?" "I swear."