There had been nothing like that so far today; only the fact that a small body of beaters, all from the hamlet of Upfield, had lagged behind on one drive and caused a slightly ragged presentation of the birds to the guns. He had told them they could all go home if they could do no better than that, separated them from each other and had no further trouble. The morning pursued its course with apparently faultless organization, but Glass knew he could not relax his vigilance for one moment.

As the first shots were fired on the last stand but one before lunch, Percy Maidment and Albert Jarvis gave each other one quick little glance before their full attention was required by their respective champions. Sir Randolph, quite reassured – now that Gilbert looked so calm and the morning was taking its course so pleasantly – that the spirit in the air was sporting rather than vulgarly competitive, had placed Gilbert and Lionel side by side at the end of the line, since the lie of the land was such that there was usually a great concentration of birds in that corner and they could expect some excitement. He himself stood well back, midway between the two of them, to pick off any birds that sheer pressure of numbers might oblige them to leave.

As he had expected, the birds came over fast and high. Even so the two experts in front of him were so quick and accurate that not many passed them. Intent though he was on his own shooting, he had time to notice the exhibition of skill in front of him.

‘Well, Charlie,’ he said to his loader when the drive was over. ‘You don’t often see shooting like that.’

‘I never seen anything like it, Sir Randolph,’ said Charlie Pass with true admiration.

Sir Randolph watched Lorna about the task of picking up the birds and noticed that Albert Jarvis and Percy Maidment were busy doing the same with a haste which seemed almost frantic. Hardly straightening their backs between picking up one bird and the next, they hurried to and fro across the small area of ground which was most thickly strewn with corpses as if they themselves were under fire and in danger of imminent destruction. Sir Randolph looked at them in some surprise and was even more astonished to see Lorna, on her way back to him with a bird, being waylaid by the two of them, each attempting to grab the pheasant. Lorna let them have it and went back to look for another, whereupon the two began to quarrel loudly as to whose bird it was.

Sir Randolph, hesitating to reprimand them when it seemed to him the responsibility of their own masters to do so, was relieved when Gilbert Hartlip, who had begun to walk away towards the group of other sportsmen, evidently heard the raised voices and turned back.

‘What’s all this Jarvis?’

‘I’m sorry, my lord, this was your bird, my lord, what I was just picking up.’