"
Duncombe laughed heartily.
"My dear fellow," he said, "I shall bless your uncommonly sensitive ears
if they keep you here with me even for an extra few days. You shall have
your opportunity, too. I always dine at Runton Place after our first
shoot, and I know Runton quite well enough to take you. You shall sit at
the same table. Hullo, what's this light wobbling up the drive?"
He strolled a yard or so away, and returned.
"A bicycle," he remarked. "One of the grooms has been down to the
village. I shall have to speak to Burdett in the morning. I will not
have these fellows coming home at all sorts of times in the morning.
Come along in, Andrew. Just a drain, eh? And a cigarette--and then to
bed. Runton's keen on his bag, and they say that German, Von Rothe, is a
fine shot. Can't let them have it all their own way."
"No fear of that," Andrew answered, stepping through the window. "I'll
have the cigarette, please, but I don't care about any more whisky. The
'Field' mentioned your name only a few weeks ago as one of the finest
shots at rising birds in the country, so I don't think you need fear the
German."
"I ought to hold my own with the partridges," Duncombe admitted, helping
himself from the siphon, "but come in, come in!"
A servant entered with a telegram upon a silver salver.
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