What?” The colonel strode along the narrow hallway in front of Baxter, his calves encased in bright yellow and green argyle socks below his tweed knickers. “By George, I do relish a hunt. Though I do prefer larger game, of course. Not much to brag about when bagging a bird, is there, what?” Baxter mumbled an answer and promised himself he would have it out with Cecily in the morning, without fail. Not only did she force him into a most embarrassing display of idiocy in front of a guest, but he was now conducting an imaginary search for an imaginary bird with a deranged nitwit for an assistant. The nitwit in question came to an abrupt halt in front of him, and Baxter narrowly avoided charging straight into the bulky figure. “Shh!” the colonel hissed. “There it is, by thunder. Lurking in the corner over there. Looks much bigger than I expected.” Baxter frowned, doing his best to peer around the colonel’s plump shoulders. “Where is it?” he whispered, peering into the dim shadows beyond the flickering gas lamps.
