From Axminster to Combe Regis the line runs through country asattractive as any that can be found in the island, and the train, asif in appreciation of this fact, does not hurry over the journey. Itwas late afternoon by the time we reached our destination.

　　The arrangements for the carrying of luggage at Combe Regis border onthe primitive. Boxes are left on the platform, and later, when hethinks of it, a carrier looks in and conveys them into the valley andup the hill on the opposite side to the address written on the labels.

　　The owner walks. Combe Regis is not a place for the halt and maimed.

　　Ukridge led us in the direction of the farm, which lay across thevalley, looking through woods to the sea. The place was visible fromthe station, from which, indeed, standing as it did on the top of ahill, the view was extensive.

　　Half-way up the slope on the other side of the valley we left the roadand made our way across a spongy field, Ukridge explaining that thiswas a short cut. We climbed through a hedge, crossed a stream andanother field, and after negotiating a difficult bank, topped withbarbed wire, found ourselves in a garden.

　　Ukridge mopped his forehead, and restored his pince-nez to theiroriginal position from which the passage of the barbed wire haddislodged them.

　　"This is the place," he said. "We've come in by the back way. Savestime. Tired, Millie?""A little, dear. I should like some tea.""Same here," I agreed.

　　"That'll be all right," said Ukridge. "A most competent man of thename of Beale and his wife are in charge at present. I wrote to themtelling them that we were coming to-day. They will be ready for us.

　　That's the way to do things, Garny old horse. Quiet efficiency.

　　Perfect organisation."We were at the front door by this time. Ukridge rang the bell. Thenoise echoed through the house, but there was no answering footsteps.

　　He rang again. There is no mistaking the note of a bell in an emptyhouse. It was plain that the competent man and his wife were out.

　　"Now what?" I said.

　　Mrs. Ukridge looked at her husband with calm confidence.

　　"This," said Ukridge, leaning against the door and endeavouring tobutton his collar at the back, "reminds me of an afternoon in theArgentine. Two other cheery sportsmen and myself tried for three-quarters of an hour to get into an empty house where there looked asif there might be something to drink, and we'd just got the door openwhen the owner turned up from behind a tree with a shot-gun. It was alittle difficult to explain. As a matter of fact, we never did whatyou might call really thresh the matter out thoroughly in all itsaspects, and you'd be surprised what a devil of a time it takes topick buck-shot out of a fellow. There was a dog, too."He broke off, musing dreamily on the happy past, and at this momenthistory partially repeated itself. From the other side of the doorcame a dissatisfied whine, followed by a short bark.

　　"Hullo," said Ukridge, "Beale has a dog." He frowned, annoyed. "Whatright," he added in an aggrieved tone, "has a beastly mongrel,belonging to a man I employ, to keep me out of my own house? It's alittle hard. Here am I, slaving day and night to support Beale, andwhen I try to get into my own house his infernal dog barks at me. Uponmy Sam it's hard!" He brooded for a moment on the injustice of things.

　　"Here, let me get to the keyhole. I'll reason with the brute."He put his mouth to the keyhole and roared "Goo' dog!" through it.

　　Instantly the door shook as some heavy object hurled itself againstit. The barking rang through the house.

　　"Come round to the back," said Ukridge, giving up the idea ofconciliation, "we'll get in through the kitchen window."The kitchen window proved to be insecurely latched. Ukridge threw itopen and we climbed in. The dog, hearing the noise, raced back alongthe passage and flung himself at the door, scratching at the panels.

　　Ukridge listened with growing indignation.

　　"Millie, you know how to light a fire. Garnet and I will be collectingcups and things. When that scoundrel Beale arrives I shall tear himlimb from limb. Deserting us like this! The man must be a thoroughfraud. He told me he was an old soldier. If that's the sort ofdiscipline they used to keep in his regiment, thank God, we've got aNavy! Damn, I've broken a plate. How's the fire getting on, Millie?

　　I'll chop Beale into little bits. What's that you've got there, Garnyold horse? Tea? Good. Where's the bread? There goes another plate.

　　Where's Mrs. Beale, too? By Jove, that woman wants killing as much asher blackguard of a husband. Whoever heard of a cook deliberatelyleaving her post on the day when her master and mistress were expectedback? The abandoned woman. Look here, I'll give that dog threeminutes, and if it doesn't stop scratching that door by then, I'lltake a rolling pin and go out and have a heart-to-heart talk with it.

　　It's a little hard. My own house, and the first thing I find when Iarrive is somebody else's beastly dog scratching holes in the doorsand ruining the expensive paint. Stop it, you brute!"The dog's reply was to continue his operations with immense vigour.

　　Ukridge's eyes gleamed behind their glasses.

　　"Give me a good large jug, laddie," he said with ominous calm.

　　He took the largest of the jugs from the dresser and strode with itinto the scullery, whence came a sound of running water. He returnedcarrying the jug with both hands, his mien that of a general who seeshis way to a masterstroke of strategy.

　　"Garny, old horse," he said, "freeze onto the handle of the door, and,when I give the word, fling wide the gates. Then watch that animal getthe surprise of a lifetime."I attached myself to the handle as directed. Ukridge gave the word. Wehad a momentary vision of an excited dog of the mongrel class framedin the open doorway, all eyes and teeth; then the passage was occupiedby a spreading pool, and indignant barks from the distance told thatthe enemy was thinking the thing over in some safe retreat.

　　"Settled /his/ hash," said Ukridge complacently. "Nothing likeresource, Garny my boy. Some men would have gone on letting a gooddoor be ruined.""And spoiled the dog for a ha'porth of water," I said.

　　At this moment Mrs. Ukridge announced that the kettle was boiling.

　　Over a cup of tea Ukridge became the man of business.

　　"I wonder when those fowls are going to arrive. They should have beenhere to-day. It's a little hard. Here am I, all eagerness and anxiety,waiting to start an up-to-date chicken farm, and no fowls! I can't runa chicken farm without fowls. If they don't come to-morrow, I shallget after those people with a hatchet. There must be no slackness.

　　They must bustle about. After tea I'll show you the garden, and we'llchoose a place for a fowl-run. To-morrow we must buckle to. Seriouswork will begin immediately after breakfast.""Suppose," I said, "the fowls arrive before we're ready for them?""Why, then they must wait.""But you can't keep fowls cooped up indefinitely in a crate.""Oh, that'll be all right. There's a basement to this house. We'll let'em run about there till we're ready for them. There's always a way ofdoing things if you look for it. Organisation, my boy. That's thewatchword. Quiet efficiency.""I hope you are going to let the hens hatch some of the eggs, dear,"said Mrs. Ukridge. "I should love to have some little chickens.""Of course. By all means. My idea," said Ukridge, "was this. Thesepeople will send us fifty fowls of sorts. That means--call it forty-five eggs a day. Let 'em . . . Well, I'm hanged! There's that dogagain. Where's the jug?"But this time an unforeseen interruption prevented the manoeuvre beingthe success it had been before. I had turned the handle and was aboutto pull the door open, while Ukridge, looking like some modern anddilapidated version of the /Discobolus/, stood beside me with his jugpoised, when a voice spoke from the window.

　　"Stand still!" said the voice, "or I'll corpse you!"I dropped the handle. Ukridge dropped the jug. Mrs. Ukridge droppedher tea-cup. At the window, with a double-barrelled gun in his hands,stood a short, square, red-headed man. The muzzle of his gun, whichrested on the sill, was pointing in a straight line at the thirdbutton of my waistcoat.

　　Ukridge emitted a roar like that of a hungry lion.

　　"Beale! You scoundrelly, unprincipled, demon! What the devil are youdoing with that gun? Why were you out? What have you been doing? Whydid you shout like that? Look what you've made me do."He pointed to the floor. The very old pair of tennis shoes which hewore were by this time generously soaked with the spilled water.

　　"Lor, Mr. Ukridge, sir, is that you?" said the red-headed man calmly.

　　"I thought you was burglars."A short bark from the other side of the kitchen door, followed by arenewal of the scratching, drew Mr. Beale's attention to his faithfulhound.

　　"That's Bob," he said.

　　"I don't know what you call the brute," said Ukridge. "Come in and tiehim up. And mind what you're doing with that gun. After you'vefinished with the dog, I should like a brief chat with you, laddie, ifyou can spare the time and have no other engagements."Mr. Beale, having carefully deposited the gun against the wall anddropped a pair of very limp rabbits on the floor, proceeded to climbin through the window. This operation concluded, he stood to one sidewhile the besieged garrison passed out by the same route.

　　"You will find me in the garden," said Ukridge coldly. "I've one ortwo little things to say to you."Mr. Beale grinned affably. He seemed to be a man of equabletemperament.

　　The cool air of the garden was grateful after the warmth of thekitchen. It was a pretty garden, or would have been if it had not beenso neglected. I seemed to see myself sitting in a deck-chair on thelawn, smoking and looking through the trees at the harbour below. Itwas a spot, I felt, in which it would be an easy and a pleasant taskto shape the plot of my novel. I was glad I had come. About now,outside my lodgings in town, a particularly foul barrel-organ would besettling down to work.

　　"Oh, there you are, Beale," said Ukridge, as the servitor appeared.

　　"Now then, what have you to say?"The hired man looked thoughtful for a moment, then said that it was afine evening.

　　"Fine evening?" shouted Ukridge. "What on earth has that got to dowith it? I want to know why you and Mrs. Beale were out when wearrived.""The missus went to Axminster, Mr. Ukridge, sir.""She had no right to go to Axminster. It isn't part of her duties togo gadding about to Axminster. I don't pay her enormous sums to go toAxminster. You knew I was coming this evening.""No, sir.""What!""No, sir.""Beale," said Ukridge with studied calm, the strong man repressinghimself. "One of us two is a fool.""Yes, sir.""Let us sift this matter to the bottom. You got my letter?""No, sir.""My letter saying that I should arrive to-day. You didn't get it?""No, sir.""Now, look here, Beale, this is absurd. I am certain that that letterwas posted. I remember placing it in my pocket for that purpose. It isnot there now. See. These are all the contents of my--well, I'mhanged."He stood looking at the envelope which he had produced from hisbreast-pocket. A soft smile played over Mr. Beale's wooden face. Hecoughed.

　　"Beale," said Ukridge, "you--er--there seems to have been a mistake.""Yes, sir.""You are not so much to blame as I thought.""No, sir."There was a silence.

　　"Anyhow," said Ukridge in inspired tones, "I'll go and slay thatinfernal dog. I'll teach him to tear my door to pieces. Where's yourgun, Beale?"But better counsels prevailed, and the proceedings closed with a coldbut pleasant little dinner, at which the spared mongrel came outunexpectedly strong with ingenious and diverting tricks.