There was no mistaking Hillcrest Farm. It lay on the top of a sharp rise just as the landlord had described it. The two instinctively slackened their steps as they approached, as if unconsciously reconnoitring the scene of battle. “I don’t want to enlist Wetherby just yet,” Roger murmured. “I think we ought to try and tackle him ourselves. And we don’t want to give the alarm in any case, or arouse any suspicions. That’s why I didn’t put hundreds more questions to that landlord. What do you think?” “Oh, absolutely. What about asking that old chap if he knows where Prince is?” “Yes, I will.” Roger strolled over towards the spot where an ancient rustic was clipping one of Mr. Wetherby’s hedges. “I want to speak to Mr. Prince,” he confided to the ancient. “Can you tell me where I shall find him?” “Sir?” queried the other, curving a large and horny hand round an equally large and horny ear. “I want to speak to Mr. Prince,” Roger repeated loudly. “Where is he?” The ancient did not move. “Sir?” he remarked stolidly. “Prince!” bawled Roger. “Where?” “Oh, _Prince_! ’E’s in the next field alongside. Up ’tother end I seed ’im last, not above five minutes back.” The horny palm ceased to function as an ear-trumpet and became a receptacle for a spare shilling of Roger’s, and the two moved on. In the side of the next field was set a sturdy gate. Roger swung himself easily over it, the light of battle in his eyes. Alec followed suit, and they advanced together up the centre of the field. “I can’t see anyone here, can you?” Roger remarked, when they had gone some little distance. “Perhaps he’s gone somewhere else.” “Nothing but a cow in that corner. Is there any other way out of the field? He didn’t get over that gate into the road within the last five minutes. We should have seen him.” Roger halted and gazed round carefully. “Yes, there’s a—— Hullo! What’s the matter with that cow? She seems very interested in us.” The cow, a large, powerful-looking animal, had indeed quitted its corner and was advancing purposefully in their direction. Its head was swaying curiously from side to side and it was emitting a noise not unlike the hoot of a steamer. “My God!” Alec shouted suddenly. “That isn’t a cow; it’s a bull! Run like hell!” Roger needed no second invitation; he set off at top speed in the wake of the flying Alec. The bull, observing this disappointing procedure, thundered after them. It was an exciting race while it lasted. The result, some six seconds later, was as follows: 1. Mr. A. Grierson. 2. Mr. R. Sheringham. 3. Bull. _Distance between first and second, ten yards; between second and third, one five-barred gate (taken by the second in his stride)._ “’Strewth!” Roger observed with feeling, and collapsed incontinently into a ditch. A hoarse and grating noise caused them to look up. The noise emanated from the ancient. He was laughing.