run away we would assuredly shoot him by accident. He did not enjoy the sport; he was afraid of the guns, and jumped lightly every time we fired. His patent leather boots were tight and ill-suited to the rough going, nor were his black trousers in keeping with his amusement. He looked, indeed, a curious hybrid, a sportsman from his crown to the bottom of his jacket, and a man of the world about the legs. Moreover, his wind was not good, and we were without compassion; we drove him along, and brought him home foot-sore and weary. Angel, on the other hand, enjoyed herself exceedingly; she made nothing of the rough going, and came back as fresh, or rather fresher, than she started.
We were eager for lunch, and a very little while getting it ready. In the middle of it Bottiger's wire came. It ran:
"Dine with me at the Cecil, Bottiger."
It was the formula which announced his success.
Half an hour later we had packed and were in the motor car. Honest John Driver was but a pale rider, and clung tightly to the side whenever Chelubai let her rip. When she was going up the long hill beyond Watford I took the quiet opportunity to say to Honest John Driver: "Now, Mr. Driver, I have no doubt you have been thinking
