‘Nice cat,’ said the Colonel, and added: ‘Good fishing to you. The Old ’Un lies below the bridge on my side, by the way.’

‘Indeed?’

‘As no doubt you guessed,’ the Colonel added against his better judgement, ‘when you watched me through your field-glasses.’

If Mr Phinn had contemplated a conciliatory position he at once abandoned it. He made a belligerent gesture with his net. ‘The landscape, so far as I am aware,’ he said, ‘is not under some optical interdict. It may be viewed, I believe. To the best of my knowledge, there are no squatter’s rights over the distant prospect of the Chyne.’

‘None whatever. You can stare,’ said the Colonel, ‘at the Chyne, or me or anything else you fancy till you are black in the face for all I care. But if you realized … If you …’ He scratched his head, a gesture that with the Colonel denoted profound emotional disturbance. ‘My dear Phinn …’ he began again, ‘if you only knew … God bless my soul what does it matter! Good evening to you.’

He encircled Mr Phinn and hurried up the path. ‘And for that grotesque,’ he thought resentfully, ‘for that impossible, that almost certifiable buffoon I have saddled myself with a responsibility that may well make me wretchedly uncomfortable for the rest of my life.’

He mended his pace and followed the path into the Hammer coppice. Whether summoned by maternal obligations or because she had taken an inscrutable cat’s fancy to the Colonel, Thomasina Twitchett accompanied him, trilling occasionally and looking about for an evening bird. They came within view of the lawn and there was Commander Syce, bow in hand, quiver at thigh and slightly unsteady on his feet, hunting about in the underbrush.

‘Hallo, Cartarette,’ he said. ‘Lost a damned arrow. What a thing! Missed the damned target and away she went.’

‘Missed it by a dangerously wide margin, didn’t you?’ the Colonel rejoined rather testily. After all, people did use the path, he reflected and he began to help in the search. Thomasina Twitchett, amused by the rustle of leaves, pretended to join in the hunt.

‘I know,’ Commander Syce agreed, ‘rotten bad show, but I saw old Phinn and it put me off. Did you hear what happened about me and his cat? Damnedest thing you ever knew! Purest accident, but the old whatnot wouldn’t have it. Great grief, I told him, I like cats.’

He thrust his hand into a heap of dead leaves. Thomasina Twitchett leapt merrily upon it and fleshed her claws in his wrist. ‘Perishing little bastard,’ said Commander Syce. He freed himself and aimed a spank at her which she easily avoided and being tired of their company, made for her home and kittens. The Colonel excused himself and turned up through the spinney into the open field below his own lawn.