Then, just as we turned to go, something happened.  The round-eyed Charles ran puffing into the quadrangle, followed by another man with a dog, who had been specially set to pick my birds, and carrying in his hand a much-bedraggled cock pheasant without a tail.

“I’ve got him, my lord,” he gasped, for he had run very fast; “the little gent’s—­I mean that which he killed in the clouds with the last shot he fired.  It had gone right down into the mud and stuck there.  Tom and me fished him up with a pole.”

Lord Ragnall took the bird and looked at it.  It was almost cold, but evidently freshly killed, for the limbs were quite flexible.

“That turns the scale in favour of Mr. Quatermain,” he said, “so, Sir Junius, you had better pay your money and congratulate him, as I do.”

“I protest,” exclaimed Van Koop, looking very angry and meaner than usual.  “How am I to know that this was Mr. Quatermain’s pheasant?  The sum involved is more than L5 and I feel it is my duty to protest.”

“Because my men say so, Sir Junius; moreover, seeing the height from which the bird fell, their story is obviously true.”

Then he examined the pheasant further, pointing out that it appeared to have only one wound—­a shot through the throat almost exactly at the root of the beak, of which shot there was no mark of exit.  “What sized shot were you using, Sir Junius?” he asked.

“No. 4 at the last stand.”

“And you were using No. 3, Mr. Quatermain.  Now, was any other gun using No. 3?”

All shook their heads.

“Jenkins, open that bird’s head.  I think the shot that killed it will be found in the brain.”

Jenkins obeyed, using a penknife cleverly enough.  Pressed against the bone of the skull he found the shot.

“No. 3 it is, sure enough, my lord,” he said.

“You will agree that settles the matter, Sir Junius,” said Lord Ragnall.  “And now, as a bet has been made here it had better be paid.”

“I have not enough money on me,” said Van Koop sulkily.

“I think your banker is mine,” said Lord Ragnall quietly, “so you can write a cheque in the house.  Come in, all of you, it is cold in this wind.”

So we went into the smoking-room, and Lord Ragnall, who, I could see, was annoyed, instantly fetched a blank cheque from his study and handed it to Van Koop in rather a pointed manner.

He took it, and turning to me, said: 

“I remember the capital sum, but how much is the interest?  Sorry to trouble you, but I am not very good at figures.”

“Then you must have changed a good deal during the last twelve years, Sir Junius,” I could not help saying.  “Still, never mind the interest, I shall be quite satisfied with the principal.”

So he filled up the cheque for L250 and threw it down on the table before me, saying something about its being a bother to mix up business with pleasure.