"He wouldn't have done it if you hadn't teased him," said the farmer obstinately. "I saw one of you myself teasing him with a red rag and making him furious. I'm not going to have any of it. Off you come with me to the police station." "No, no, I can't do that," I cried in alarm; "I have these children with me." "People shouldn't take children out if they can't do without getting into mischief," grumbled the farmer. "No, you come along of me," and he caught hold of my arm. "I'll give you my card," I said, "and if you have any serious complaint to make you can write to me." "Aye, a likely story; and when I write to you, as likely as not I'll find you've given me a wrong address." "Come back with me then to the inn: they know me there and will tell you whether or no the address is a correct one." The old farmer was gradually persuaded to this course, though he grumbled all the way there that I ought to be "locked up," while the children, thoroughly subdued, walked in silence behind us. "You'll have to pay a pretty penny for damages," said he warningly, when he had satisfied himself at the inn that I was known as "a gentleman who often drove over there in the summer, and always paid for what he had." I assured him that he should have what was just, and when he had gone I ordered tea in the arbour at the end of the old-fashioned garden, and over it we forgot the unfortunate, but exciting, termination to our picnic. We arrived home quite safely. Sure enough, a few days afterwards I received a preposterous claim for damage to the farmer's grass, which I left my solicitor to deal with; and more extraordinary still, I had a claim from Messrs. Piggott & Son for damages to a tent, which they "could not trace as having been hired to me, but which I must have hired at some time or another, since it bore their name marked as they only marked their tents let out on hire." This letter also went to my solicitor, and to this day I've heard nothing further about either matter. MYSTERY NO. IX SHIN SHIRA AND THE QUEEN OF HEARTS It was many months after this last adventure before I saw my friend Shin Shira again. The summer was past, and it was the time of fires and warm drawn curtains. One evening, after dinner, I was sitting alone in my study, puzzling over a chess problem, when the servant brought me a card on which I read-- "DR. SHIN SHIRA SCARAMANGA MANOUSA YAMA HAWA." "Oh!" I laughed, "show him in at once, please." For I had been longing for an opportunity of thanking the gallant little fellow for the bravery he had shown in the matter of the mad bull--a bravery to which some of us, at all events, probably owed our lives. "Come in, come in! Delighted to see you!" I cried, getting up and making him comfortable in "the Toad," the chair which I know he likes best. I got out the tobacco jar, and we were soon chatting comfortably over our pipes.