"That’s beside the question: this is supposed to be an open letter addressed to Sir Harry; I can’t chuck words of poetry at his unfortunate head—after all he’s been punished enough." They broke off their composition to join Hank in the garden whilst the sedate servant laid the table for lunch. So far from planting snowdrops Hank had established himself in the little green-house at the end of the garden—a warm cosy little greenhouse on a wintry day—and ensconced in a deck chair had fallen asleep. They woke him by the simple expedient of opening the door wide and letting in a rush of icy cold air. "Notice anything strange about next door?" yawned Hank, and the Duke started. "No," he replied with a shade of anxiety in his voice. "What is it?" "Blinds down, shutters up—general air of desolation," enumerated Hank. The Duke looked quickly and raced into the house. The sedate servant (his name was Cole) was folding a serviette. "Cole," said the Duke sternly, "where are the people next door?" "Gone, m’lord," said Cole. "Gone! when did they go! Where have they gone, and why on earth was I not told." "They went last night, m’lord," said Cole, "they have gone to Bournemouth if I am accurately informed—my source of information is the butcher——" "The postman would have been better," said the Duke reprovingly. "The postman is an extremely reticent person and moreover is a radical who does not approve of Us," said Cole. "The butcher, on the contrary, stands for landed interest and the established church." "Excellent," said the Duke, "proceed." "They left last night," Cole went on dealing with the questions in order, "which accounts for the fact that I did not inform your grace, information having arrived with chops—ten minutes ago." Cole paused deferentially, then continued, "If your grace will remember, I suggested a joint for to-day’s lunch, a suggestion which was not acceptable. Had it been a leg of mutton, your grace would have been informed two hours ago—the joint requiring that extra time to cook, and the butcher in consequence calling earlier." "You are vindicated, Cole," said the Duke sadly— As they disposed of the dilatory chop at lunch the Duke was exceptionally quiet. "I don’t know why they’ve gone away," he said at last, "but I’m not so sure that their departure isn’t providential." "My mind was runnin’ on the same set of rails," said Hank. He pushed back his plate and produced a cigar. "Duke, it’s about time we settled Big Bill for good an’ all." "Don’t tell me," said Tuppy hastily, "that your shootin’ friend is in the neighbourhood?" Hank nodded slowly. "Here last night, wasn’t he, Dukey?" "He was," said the Duke absently. "We traced his little footsteps in the garden bed," said Hank. "But, my dear foolish Transatlantic cousin," protested Tuppy, "the police, old friend! The dashed custodians of public peace an’ order! What the dooce do you pay rates an’ taxes an’ water rates an’ gas bills for!"