THE RIDE HOME Sir Giles was in a decidedly evil temper as he rode home from the hunt in the soaking rain that afternoon.

The second fox had led them miles out of the way, and they had not been rewarded by a kill.

The brute had eluded them, profiting by the downpour that had washed away the scent.

So Sir Giles, having solaced himself several times with neat brandy from the large silver flask without which he never rode abroad, was in anything but a contented mood with the world in general and his own luck in particular.

Dusk had long descended when at length he turned in at his own gates.