"So there is," agreed Thorndyke, who had already observed the shop. "The
gall ought, of course, to be prepared, but we can filter it
ourselves--that is, if the butcher has any. We will try him, at any
rate."

He crossed the road towards the shop, over which the name "Felton"
appeared in gilt lettering, and, addressing himself to the proprietor,
who stood at the door, introduced himself and explained his wants.

"Ox-gall?" said the butcher. "No, sir, I haven't any just now; but I am
having a beast killed this afternoon, and I can let you have some then.
In fact," he added, after a pause, "as the matter is of importance, I
can have one killed at once if you wish it."

"That is very kind of you," said Thorndyke, "and it would greatly oblige
me. Is the beast perfectly healthy?"

"They're in splendid condition, sir. I picked them out of the herd
myself. But you shall see them--ay, and choose the one that you'd like
killed."

"You are really very good," said Thorndyke warmly. "I will just run into
the chemist's next door, and get a suitable bottle, and then I will
avail myself of your exceedingly kind offer."

He hurried into the chemist's shop, from which he presently emerged,
carrying a white paper parcel; and we then followed the butcher down a
narrow lane by the side of his shop. It led to an enclosure containing a
small pen, in which were confined three handsome steers, whose glossy,
black coats contrasted in a very striking manner with their long,
greyish-white, nearly straight horns.

"These are certainly very fine beasts, Mr. Felton," said Thorndyke, as
we drew up beside the pen, "and in excellent condition, too."

He leaned over the pen and examined the beasts critically, especially as
to their eyes and horns; then, approaching the nearest one, he raised
his stick and bestowed a smart tap on the under-side of the right horn,
following it by a similar tap on the left one, a proceeding that the
beast viewed with stolid surprise.

"The state of the horns," explained Thorndyke, as he moved on to the
next steer, "enables one to judge, to some extent, of the beast's
health."

"Lord bless you, sir," laughed Mr. Felton, "they haven't got no feeling
in their horns, else what good 'ud their horns be to 'em?"

Apparently he was right, for the second steer was as indifferent to a
sounding rap on either horn as the first. Nevertheless, when Thorndyke
approached the third steer, I unconsciously drew nearer to watch;