On the twelfth day of August, precisely at half-past two, Merry Down was to be sold by auction at The Fountain Inn, Brooch.

Berry’s news took our breath away.

“D’you mean to say that this is what I fought for?” said I.  “For this brute’s peaceful possession of Merry Down?”

“Apparently,” said my brother-in-law.  “More.  It’s what Derry Bagot and his boy died for, if you happen to be looking at it that way.”

“It’ll break Sir Anthony’s heart,” said Daphne.

“But I don’t understand,” said Adele.  “How—­why is it allowed?”

“I must have notice,” said Berry, “of that question.”

“Have you ever heard,” said Jonah, “of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Alien Enemies?”

Adele shook her head.

“I think you must have,” said Jonah.  “Some people call it the British Nation.  It’s been going for years.”

“That’s right,” said I.  “And its motto is ‘Charity begins at Home.’  There’s really nothing more to be said.”

“I could cry,” announced Jill, in a voice that fully confirmed her statement.  “It’s just piteous.  What would poor Derry say?  Can’t anything be done?”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“If half what I’ve heard is true, Merry Down is as good as gone.  The fellow means to have it, and he’s rich enough to buy the county itself.  Short of assassination, I don’t see what anybody can do.  Of course, if you like, you can reproduce him in wax and then stick pins into the image.  But that’s very old-fashioned, and renders you liable to cremation without the option of a fine.  Besides, as a magistrate, I feel it my bounden duty to——­”

“I thought witchcraft and witches were out of date,” said Adele.

“Not at all,” said Berry.  “Only last week we bound one over for discussing the housing question with a wart-hog.  The animal, which, till then, had been laying steadily, became unsettled and suspicious and finally attacked an inoffensive Stilton with every circumstance of barbarity.”

“How awful!” said Adele.  “You do see life as a magistrate, don’t you?  And I suppose somebody kissed the wart-hog, and it turned into a French count?  You know, it’s a shame about you.”

Berry looked round.

“Mocked,” he said.  “And at my own table.  With her small mouth crammed with food, for which I shall be called upon to pay, she actually——­”

“O-o-oh!” cried Adele.  “It wasn’t.  Besides, you shouldn’t have asked me.”

“I can only say,” said Berry, “that I am surprised and pained.  From the bosom of my family I, as the head, naturally expect nothing but the foulest scurrility and derision.  But when a comparative stranger, whom, with characteristic generosity, I have made free of my heart, seizes a moment which should have been devoted to the mastication of one of my peaches to vilify her host, then indeed I feel almost unsexed—­I mean unmanned.  Are my veins standing out like cords?”