In another minute we were skulking in the
shadow of the kitchen-garden wall while the high-road rang with
the dying tattoo of galloping hoofs.
"That's for the police," said Raffles, waiting for me. "But the
fun's only beginning in the stables. Hear the uproar, and see
the lights! In another minute they'll be turning out the hunters
for the last run of the season
"We mustn't give them one, Raffles?"
"Of course we mustn't; but that means stopping where we are."
"We can't do that?"
"If they're wise they'll send a man to every railway station
within ten miles and draw every cover inside the radius. I can
only think of one that's not likely to occur to them."
"What's that?"
"The other side of this wall. How big is the garden, Bunny?"
"Six or seven acres."
"Well, you must take me to another of your old haunts, where we can
lie low till morning."
"And then?"
"Sufficient for the night, Bunny! The first thing is to find a
burrow. What are those trees at the end of this lane?"
"St. Leonard's Forest."
"Magnificent! They'll scour every inch of that before they come
back to their own garden.
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