“Indeed,” said Lord Ragnall rather seriously, for I could see that he did not believe Van Koop’s statement as to the amount of the bet; perhaps he had heard more than we thought.  “To be frank, Sir Junius, I don’t much care for betting—­for that’s what it comes to—­here.  Also I think Mr. Quatermain said yesterday that he had never shot pheasants in England, so the match seems scarcely fair.  However, you gentlemen know your own business best.  Only I must tell you both that if money is concerned, I shall have to set someone whose decision will be final to count your birds and report the number to me.”

“Agreed,” said Van Koop, or, rather, Sir Junius; but I answered nothing, for, to tell the truth, already I felt ashamed of the whole affair.

As it happened, Lord Ragnall and I walked together ahead of the others, to the first covert, which was half a mile or more away.

“You have met Sir Junius before?” he said to me interrogatively.

“I have met Mr. van Koop before,” I answered, “about twelve years since, shortly after which he vanished from South Africa, where he was a well-known and very successful—­speculator.”

“To reappear here.  Ten years ago he bought a large property in this neighbourhood.  Three years ago he became a baronet.”

“How did a man like Van Koop become a baronet?” I inquired.

“By purchase, I believe.”

“By purchase!  Are honours in England purchased?”

“You are delightfully innocent, Mr. Quatermain, as a hunter from Africa should be,” said Lord Ragnall, laughing.  “Your friend——­”

“Excuse me, Lord Ragnall, I am a very humble person, not so elevated, indeed, as that gamekeeper of yours; therefore I should not venture to call Sir Junius, late Mr. van Koop, my friend, at least in earnest.”

He laughed again.

“Well, the individual with whom you make bets subscribed largely to the funds of his party.  I am telling you what I know to be true, though the amount I do not know.  It has been variously stated to be from fifteen to fifty thousand pounds, and, perhaps by coincidence, subsequently was somehow created a baronet.”

I stared at him.

“That’s all the story,” he went on.  “I don’t like the man myself, but he is a wonderful pheasant shot, which passes him everywhere.  Shooting has become a kind of fetish in these parts, Mr. Quatermain.  For instance, it is a tradition on this estate that we must kill more pheasants than on any other in the country, and therefore I have to ask the best guns, who are not always the best fellows.  It annoys me, but it seems that I must do what was done before me.”

“Under those circumstances I should be inclined to give up the thing altogether, Lord Ragnall.  Sport as sport is good, but when it becomes a business it grows hateful.  I know, who have had to follow it as a trade for many years.”

“That’s an idea,” he replied reflectively.  “Meanwhile, I do hope that you will win back your—­L5 from Sir Junius.  He is so vain that I would gladly give L50 to see you do so.”