Lionel Verner Was Strolling Out Later In The Day, And Met The
Shooting-Party Coming Home. After Congratulating Them On Their Good
Sport, He Was Turning Home With Them, When The Gamekeeper Intimated That
He Should Be Glad To Speak A Word To Him In Private. Upon Which, Lionel
Let The Gentlemen Go On.
"What Is It, Broom?" Asked He.
"I'm Much Afeared, Sir, If Thing's Are Not Altered, That There'll Be
Murder Committed Some Night," Answered Broom, Without Circumlocution.
"I Hope Not," Replied Lionel. "Are You And The Poachers Again At Issue?"
"It's Not About The Poachers, Hang 'Em! It's About Robin Frost, Sir.
What On Earth Have Come To Him I Can't Conceive. This Last Few Nights He
Have Took To Prowling Out With A Gun. He Lays Himself Down In The Copse,
Or A Ditch, Or The Open Field--No Matter Where--And There He Stops, On
The Watch, With His Gun Always Pointed."
Shooting-Party Coming Home. After Congratulating Them On Their Good
Sport, He Was Turning Home With Them, When The Gamekeeper Intimated That
He Should Be Glad To Speak A Word To Him In Private. Upon Which, Lionel
Let The Gentlemen Go On.
"What Is It, Broom?" Asked He.
"I'm Much Afeared, Sir, If Thing's Are Not Altered, That There'll Be
Murder Committed Some Night," Answered Broom, Without Circumlocution.
"I Hope Not," Replied Lionel. "Are You And The Poachers Again At Issue?"
"It's Not About The Poachers, Hang 'Em! It's About Robin Frost, Sir.
What On Earth Have Come To Him I Can't Conceive. This Last Few Nights He
Have Took To Prowling Out With A Gun. He Lays Himself Down In The Copse,
Or A Ditch, Or The Open Field--No Matter Where--And There He Stops, On
The Watch, With His Gun Always Pointed."
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