He pointed to the floor.  The very old pair of tennis shoes which he wore were by this time generously soaked with the spilled water.

“Lor, Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?” said the red-headed man calmly.  “I thought you was burglars.”

A short bark from the other side of the kitchen door, followed by a renewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale’s attention to his faithful hound.

“That’s Bob,” he said.

“I don’t know what you call the brute,” said Ukridge.  “Come in and tie him up.  And mind what you’re doing with that gun.  After you’ve finished with the dog, I should like a brief chat with you, laddie, if you can spare the time and have no other engagements.”

Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited the gun against the wall and dropped a pair of very limp rabbits on the floor, proceeded to climb in through the window.  This operation concluded, he stood to one side while the besieged garrison passed out by the same route.

“You will find me in the garden,” said Ukridge coldly.  “I’ve one or two little things to say to you.”

Mr. Beale grinned affably.  He seemed to be a man of equable temperament.

The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of the kitchen.  It was a pretty garden, or would have been if it had not been so neglected.  I seemed to see myself sitting in a deck-chair on the lawn, smoking and looking through the trees at the harbour below.  It was a spot, I felt, in which it would be an easy and a pleasant task to shape the plot of my novel.  I was glad I had come.  About now, outside my lodgings in town, a particularly foul barrel-organ would be settling down to work.

“Oh, there you are, Beale,” said Ukridge, as the servitor appeared.  “Now then, what have you to say?”

The hired man looked thoughtful for a moment, then said that it was a fine evening.

“Fine evening?” shouted Ukridge.  “What on earth has that got to do with it?  I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were out when we arrived.”

“The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir.”

“She had no right to go to Axminster.  It isn’t part of her duties to go gadding about to Axminster.  I don’t pay her enormous sums to go to Axminster.  You knew I was coming this evening.”

“No, sir.”

“What!”

“No, sir.”

“Beale,” said Ukridge with studied calm, the strong man repressing himself.  “One of us two is a fool.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let us sift this matter to the bottom.  You got my letter?”

“No, sir.”

“My letter saying that I should arrive to-day.  You didn’t get it?”

“No, sir.”

“Now, look here, Beale, this is absurd.  I am certain that that letter was posted.  I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose.  It is not there now.  See.  These are all the contents of my—­well, I’m hanged.”

He stood looking at the envelope which he had produced from his breast-pocket.  A soft smile played over Mr. Beale’s wooden face.  He coughed.