122 THE COMPLETE SPORTSMAN 



was turning in at the lodge gates, in his six- 

 cylinder De Pouget Lancard, when he noticed 

 a farmer walking along the adjacent hedge- 

 row with a gun over his shoulder and an elderly 

 retriever at his heels. The motor was certainly 

 not doing more than forty-five miles an hour, 





and it was therefore quite clear that the dog 

 had no possible excuse for running out into 

 the middle of the road and practically thrusting 

 itself up against the bonnet of the car. But 

 whoever was to blame, the result was the same, 

 and in another moment Lord Porpentine felt 

 his off tyres bumping heavily over a bulky 



