ou haven't done any harm, I--I had no business to be cross, old
fellow. Come and show me the pictures again, I'll tell you about
them."

Christopher sat down on the sofa with the box in his hand. He really
did want to know about them if Caesar wasn't going to be angry. He took
out a photo at random.

"That was my first race-horse," said Caesar. "Her name was Loadstar.
She didn't win much, but I thought a lot of her. And that--oh, that's
a mastiff I had: he was magnificent, but such a brute I had to kill
him. He went for one of the stable boys and I hardly got him off in
time. I've got the marks now of his claws: he never bit me. We used to
wrestle together."

"Wrestle with a dog?"

"Yes, I used to be fairly strong, you know, Christopher. It was good
training throwing him--sometimes it was the other way. But he had to
die, poor old Brutus."

"How did you kill him?"

"I shot him," said Caesar shortly, "don't ask for morbid particulars.
Where is another picture?"

"This?"

This was a photo of a horse standing alone in a field and beneath was
written, "Jessica waiting to be tamed." Aymer offered no
explanation,--if Christopher had looked he would have seen the scar
show up again sharply over a frown.

The next was rather a wicked snap-shot of Aymer cover shooting, with
what looked suspiciously like a dead fox curled up at his feet.

"It was a wretched little cub I had tamed," he explained, "the little
beast used to follow me everywhere. It's really tied up to a tree, but
it always lay out as if dead when it heard a gun. I took it out with
me to try and get it used to the sound."

There was a picture of Aymer and Nevil riding and coming over a big
water jump side by side.

Aymer told him it was at the Central Horse Show and related the
triumphs and honours of the day.

But when the polo photograph turned up again Aymer appeared tired of
the amusement, and sent Christopher off to meet his father in the
brougham at Maidley station, four miles distant. "If someone doesn't
go he'll be reading reports and working out figures till he arrives at
the door," said Aymer. "It's disgraceful not to know how to take a
holiday properly. It's only small boys who ought to work like that,"
he added severely.

"You haven't given me any work to do, Caesar," protested Christopher,
but Caesar only laughed.

When the boy had gone, however, Aymer continued to turn over the
photographs. It was an extremely unwise proceeding, fo