"Tut is very well, mam, and--vastly fetching as you say it but none the less----"

"Ha' done Sergeant and let me think! Tell me, the night you went ghost-seeking did you catch ever a one--a man, say?"

"Aye, I did so, mam--one o' these London sparks and very fierce he were too!"

"Which one? What like was he!" With the aid of the shears Sergeant Zebedee described the trespa.s.ser very fully as regards face, costume and behaviour.

"That," said Mrs. Agatha, nodding her pretty head, "that should be Mr.

Dalroyd--

"Zounds!" exclaimed the Sergeant, "how d'ye know this, mam?"

"Well, Sergeant, I do chance to have eyes, also ears and I do use 'em.

This fine gentleman was your ghost t'other night, I'll swear."

"But what o' the hoofs and horns, mam, what o' the stink o' brimstone?"

"Have you seen ever a one yourself, Sergeant, or smelt the brimstone?"

"No mam, but Roger Bent has."

"Fiddlededee again, Sergeant!"

"Eh mam?"

"Roger Bent would see or smell anything. The question is what was Mr.

Dalroyd after? Since you can't find out--I will."

"As how, mam?"

"By wagging my tongue, Sergeant."

"At--who, mam?"

"Well, to begin with there is his solemn servant, Mr. Joseph----"

The Sergeant swore fiercely.

"No mam," said he frowning, "not him nor any like him. He aren't fit for you to walk on--'twould dirty your pretty shoes----"

"But I don't mean to walk on him, nor spoil my shoes."

"Then don't hold no truck with him, mam--if you do----" the Sergeant set his grim jaw fiercely.

"Well--what?"

"I shall be compelled to--out with his liver mam, that's all!"

"Lud, Sergeant Tring."

"Bound to do it, Mrs. Agatha, so--keep away from same----"

"Sergeant, don't be a fool! I must use him to find out and why do you think I want to find out?"

"Being a woman--curiosity belike?"

"Being a blockhead you must be told!" cried Mrs. Agatha, her eyes flashing, "I want to find out the Major's trouble to make an end of the Major's trouble because I would keep him here at home. And I would keep him at home because then he won't go a-marching off to the wars, and if he don't go marching to the wars, why then--then----"

"Yes, yes mam--then?"

"Then--find out!" cried Mrs. Agatha her cheeks very red all at once; and she sped away into the house leaving the Sergeant to stare after her and rub his chin with the shears harder than ever. He was so engaged when he was aware of the approach of rapid hoofs and, glancing down the drive, beheld a cavalier swing in at the open gates and come thundering towards him.

The Viscount rode at his usual speed, a stretching gallop; on he came beneath the long avenue of chestnuts, horse hoofs pounding, curls flying, coat-skirts fluttering, nor checked his pace until he was almost upon the Sergeant, then he reined up in full career and was himself on terra firma almost in the same instant.

"Ha, Zeb," he sighed, drooping in modish languor, "split me, but I'm glad to see that square phiz o' thine, 'tis positive tanic after London, I vow! How goeth rusticity, Zeb?"

"As well as can be expected, my lord!"

"And the Major?"

"As well as can be hoped, sir, what with devils, apparations, witchcraft, magic, sorcery and hocus-pocus, m' lud!"

"Gad save my perishing soul!" exclaimed the Viscount, "What's it all mean, Zeb?"

"Well, Master Pancras sir, it do mean--nay, yonder cometh his honour to tell you himself, mayhap." Saying which, Sergeant Zebedee led the Viscount's horse away to the stables while his lordship, knocking dust from his slender person, went to greet the Major.

"Sir," said he as they clasped hands, "'tis real joy to see you again, but pray discover me the why and wherefore of the gruesome nightmare?"

and he shook reproachful head at the Ramillie coat.

"'Tis easy, Tom, old and comfortable, d'ye see, while my new ones are so--so plaguy fine and overpowering as 'twere, so to speak, that I feel scarce worthy of 'em. So I--I treasure 'em, Tom, for--for great occasions and the like----"

"A grave fallacy, nunk! Modish garments must be worn whiles the prevailing fashion holds--to-day they are the mode, to-morrow, the devil! Fashion, sir, is coquettish as woman or weatherc.o.c.k, 'tis for ever a-veering, already there is a new b.u.t.ton-hole."

"Indeed, Tom! Egad you stagger me!"

"Cansequently sir, being a dutiful nephew, I took thought to order you three more new suits--

"The devil you did!"

"Having special regard to this new b.u.t.ton-hole, sir----"

"These will make nine o' them!" sighed the Major.

"Your pardon, sir, exactly thirty-one, neither more or less!"

"Good G.o.d, Tom!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Major, halting on the terrace-steps to stare h is amazement, "Thirty-one of 'em? How the deuce----"

"Cut aslant, d'ye see, nunky, and arabesqued with lace of gold or silver----"