"Here you are, Beale," said Ukridge, as the red-headed man approached. "Now, then, what have you to say?"
The hired man looked thoughtful for a while, then observed that it was a fine evening. Garnet felt that he was begging the question. He was a strong, healthy man, and should have scorned to beg.
"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What--on--earth has that got to do with it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were both out when we arrived?"
"The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir."
"She had no right to go to Axminster. I don't pay her large sums to go to Axminster. You knew I was coming this evening."
"Beale," said Ukridge with studied calm, "one of us two is a fool."
"Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?"
"My letter saying that I should arrive to-night. You did not get it?"
"Now look here, Beale," said Ukridge, "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 he had produced from his breast pocket. Mr. Beale coughed.
"Beale," said Ukridge, "you--er--there seems to have been a mistake."
"You are not so much to blame as I thought."
"Anyhow," said Ukridge, in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay that infernal dog. Where's your gun, Beale?"
But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a cold but pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came out unexpectedly strong with brainy and diverting tricks.
Sunshine, streaming into his bedroom through the open window, woke Garnet next day as distant clocks were striking eight. It was a lovely morning, cool and fresh. The grass of the lawn, wet with dew, sparkled in the sun. A thrush, who knew all about early birds and their perquisites, was filling in the time before the arrival of the worm with a song or two as he sat in the bushes. In the ivy a colony of sparrows were opening the day well with a little brisk fighting. On the gravel in front of the house lay the mongrel Bob, blinking lazily.
The gleam of the sea through the trees turned Garnet's thoughts to bathing. He dressed quickly and went out. Bob rose to meet him, waving an absurdly long tail. The hatchet was definitely buried now. That little matter of the jug of water was forgotten.