Part 23 (2/2)

”The brute never came back. In his hurry my son forgot to mention it--he was recalled by wire, and the young bounder never even dropped me a postcard. Now I'm on b.u.t.terfly's track. Can you a.s.sist me in my quest?”

”Sorry,” replied Entwistle, taking the pouch and deliberately filling his briar. ”Stay. I did mention to Billy that the animal ought to be shod. Why not inquire of the various blacksmiths on the way to Tarleigh? Let me see: there's Schofield's in Cook Street, Barnes's in Forge Lane, and Thomas's in d.y.k.e Street--they are all just off Chumley Old Road. How did you come into Barborough--by train?”

”No, I walked as far as the tram terminus,” replied Barcroft Senior.

”If you like I'll run you back in my car,” suggested the vet. ”We'll look the blacksmiths up on our way. Any news of your friend Norton?”

”Not a sign or a word.”

”H'm!”

Entwistle shrugged his shoulders. Peter looked at him keenly.

”Why that 'h'm'?” he asked.

”Only--by the bye, have the police been informed?”

Barcroft shook his head.

”Not by me,” he replied. ”I'm inclined to think that he'll turn up again in a day or two. It may be a form of eccentricity encouraged by the excitement of the raid.”

”Yes,” agreed the vet. ”Three days ago. Yes, it is quite about time he put in an appearance. Well, excuse me a moment. I'll tell Jarvis to bring the car round.”

”Sure I'm not putting you out?” asked Peter.

”On the contrary--delighted. As a matter of fact, I have to see a horse belonging to a farmer over Windyhill way, so it will be killing two birds with one stone. Now for this bad case of absent.i.tis.”

Inquiries at two blacksmiths were without satisfactory result. The third, who happened to be the man who had shod the refractory b.u.t.terfly, could only state that the last he saw of the animal was that it was scampering along Jumbles Lane, and that the trap still remained in a shed in his yard.

”Th' oughtn't ta' be much trouble to trace yon animal,” concluded the smith. ”A champion she were-a right down champion, mark you.

They may clip her coat or dock her tail or change her colour, but 'tis her size as they can't alter. Meantimes I'll keep a look-out, master, and if I hears aught----”

”Going to report the matter to the police?” asked Entwistle, as the pair re-entered the car.

”I think not,” replied Peter. ”It might end in the representative of the law running in every itinerant donkey owner on sight. I think I'll enlist the services of the Press to the tune of an eighteenpenny advertis.e.m.e.nt.”

Outside the newspaper offices a crowd had collected to read the latest bulletin:

”Destroyer Action in the North Sea. German torpedo-boats destroyed.

British Naval Airmen rescued from sinking enemy craft.”

Making his way through the throng Peter entered the office, gave in his advertis.e.m.e.nt and bought a paper.

”That's great!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed as he read the brief report. ”Billy's pals, Fuller and Kirkwood, saved by one of our destroyers. By Jove, Entwistle, who says that the British Navy is sitting tight in harbour? Whenever there's an opportunity our lads in navy blue are on it.”

”Then why the deuce confine the facts to a few bald lines?” asked the vet. ”The job's done properly, and a stirring story it would make! Something to buck up people at home. Instead, you have to rely upon your imagination, which is apt to let you down.”

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