Twentyman was reluctantly brought back into the meadow where the horses were standing, and then a consultation was held as to what they should do next.  There were some who thought that the hounds should be taken home for the day.  It was as though some special friend of the U.R.U. had died that morning, and that the spirits of the sportsmen were too dejected for their sport.  Others, with prudent foresight, suggested that the hounds might run back from some distant covert to Dillsborough, and that there should be no hunting till the wood had been thoroughly searched.  But the strangers, especially those who had hired horses, would not hear of this; and after considerable delay it was arranged that the hounds should be trotted off as quickly as possible to Impington Gorse, which was on the other side of Impington Park, and fully five miles distant.  And so they started, leaving the dead fox in the hands of Bean the gamekeeper.

“Is this the sort of thing that occurs every day?” asked the Senator as he got back into the carriage.

“I should fancy not,” answered Morton.  “Somebody has poisoned a fox, and I don’t think that that is very often done about here.”

“Why did he poison him?”

“To save his fowls I suppose.”

“Why shouldn’t he poison him if the fox takes his fowls?  Fowls are better than foxes.”

“Not in this country,” said Morton.

“Then I’m very glad I don’t live here,” said Mr. Gotobed.  “These friends of yours are dressed very nicely and look very well,—­but a fox is a nasty animal.  It was that man standing up on the bank;—­ wasn’t it?” continued the Senator, who was determined to understand it all to the very bottom, in reference to certain lectures which he intended to give on his return to the States,—­and perhaps also in the old country before he left it.

“They suspect him.”

“That man with the gun!  One man against two hundred!  Now I respect that man;—­I do with all my heart.”

“You’d better not say so here, Mr. Gotobed.”

“I know how full of prejudice you all air’,—­but I do respect him.  If I comprehend the matter rightly, he was on his own land when we saw him.”

“Yes;—­that was his own field.”

“And they meant to ride across it whether he liked it or no?”

“Everybody rides across everybody’s land out hunting.”

“Would they ride across your park, Mr. Morton, if you didn’t let them?”

“Certainly they would,—­and break down all my gates if I had them locked, and pull down my park palings to let the hounds through.”

“And you could get no compensation?”

“Practically I could get none.  And certainly I should not try.  The greatest enemy to hunting in the whole county would not be foolish enough to make the attempt”

“Why so?”

“He would get no satisfaction, and everybody would hate him.”