He disappeared through the door, taking off his coat, and Mortimer and I set to work upon the various packages which we had brought with us. We unearthed an appetising-looking fowl, a ham, two or three nice crusty loaves, a jar of butter, and numerous other aids to successful salmon fishing, including enough beer and whisky to stock a modest hotel. We were contemplating the latter in a kind of pleased reverie, when Tommy came back with a tablecloth under his arm, and a trayload of accessories. "I say," he began, "it's deuced funny, but I can't find any forks and spoons. Plenty of glasses and plates and knives, but not another bally thing in the place." Mortimer burst out laughing. "I expect your aged friend eats with his fingers," he said. "Or else someone's been in and cleared the lot," I suggested. "Oh, they can't have done that," said Tommy; "or else the boat wouldn't be here." "Well, we shall have to do what we can without," remarked Mortimer. "You fellows can tear off a leg each, and I'll have the pickings." We pulled out a table into the centre of the room, and while I helped Mortimer arrange the feast, Tommy went into the kitchen to have another look for the missing silver. His efforts proved as barren as before, and finally abandoning the attempt, we settled ourselves down to do as well as we could with knives and fingers. "Here's to our week-end," said Tommy, holding up a glass of Bass. "And death to the salmon." "Death to the salmon," I repeated hopefully, raising my glass in turn. We were just drinking the toast, when Mortimer suddenly sat bolt upright in his chair and glanced quickly round behind him. "What's the matter?" I asked. "'Sh!" he whispered. "Go on talking loudly. Don't stop whatever you do." We followed his instructions, watching him with amazement as he jumped up noiselessly from his chair, and crept like a cat across the room as far as the archway. Here he stopped, bending down and listening intently, with his hand to his ear. When he turned, his face was alight with excitement. He came swiftly back, signalling to us to keep up the conversation. "There's someone getting out of one of the bedroom windows," he whispered across the table. "Don't stop talking, but get to the door, and make a sudden rush for it. We're bound to catch him." A smile of holy joy irradiated Tommy's countenance. Next to wrestling with a motor-car, a physical difference of opinion with a fellow-creature appeals to him more than anything else in the world. He leapt up, and instantly assumed command. "You and Mortimer take the left; I'll go the other way. Buck up, or the blighter will have scooted." Before he had finished speaking he had reached the door, clearing the steps with a single jump and bursting his way through the shrubs like a rather reckless rhinoceros.