across the artillery range and being a man of honour decided that he must proceed. 'What's good for the goose is good for the gander,' he muttered and then changed it to what was bad for the goose necessitated some risk to the gander. He dropped more coins, this time closer together to quicken the pace. At four thousand yards he was down to five hundred sovereigns and at five thousand the washleather bag still held four hundred. And as the money thickened on the ground so did the mist above it. At eight thousand yards Mr Dodd emptied the remnants on the ground, scattering them in the heather to be searched for. Then he turned and ran. Mrs Flawse was nowhere to be seen but her demented muttering came though the mist. So did the first shell. It burst on the hillside and sent shrapnel scudding past Mr Dodd's head and he redoubled his pace. Mrs Flawse didn't. Deaf to the sound of the artillery she walked on, stopping and stooping and gathering the golden hoard which like some legend come to life held her attention to the exclusion of all else. If this trail of bullion continued she would be a rich woman. The market value of each old sovereign was twenty-six pounds and gold had been rising. And already she had collected seven hundred of the glittering coins. Mrs Flawse foresaw a splendid future. She would leave the Hall. She would live in luxury with yet another husband, a young one this time to be bullied and put to work and made to serve her sexual requirements. With each stop and stoop she was more inflamed with greed and lust and made an audit of her good fortune. Finally at eight thousand yards the trail dwindled and stopped. But the gold gleamed in the heather all round and she scrabbled with her fingers for each remaining one. 'I mustn't miss any,' she muttered.

At four thousand yards to the south the men of the Royal Artillery were equally determined not to miss their target. They couldn't see it but the range was right and having bracketed it they prepared to fire a salvo. Ahead of them Mrs Flawse found the last coin and sat on the ground with the gold gathered in her skirt and began to count, 'One, two, three, four, five…' She got no further. The Royal Artillery had lived up to their reputation and the six-gun salvo had scored a direct hit. Where Mrs Flawse had been sitting there was a large crater around whose perimeter lay scattered, like golden confetti from some extravagant wedding, one thousand sovereigns. But then Mrs Flawse had always married money. Or, as she had been told as a child by her avaricious mother, 'Don't marry money, my dear, go where money is.' And Mrs Flawse had gone.

Mr Dodd had too but in a much more lively manner. He went with a clear conscience. He had put his own life at risk to be rid of the auld bitch and as the poet had it 'Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die!' and Mr Dodd had done for liberty what he could and was still alive. As he strode back to Flawse Hall he was whistling 'Gin a body meet a body, Coming through the rye. Gin a body kill a body, Need a body cry?' Aye, old Robbie Burns knew what he was talking about, he thought, even with a little amendment to his meaning. And when he reached the Hall he lit a fire in the old man's study and fetching his pipes sat on the settle in the kitchen and played 'Twa Corbies' in elegiac recognition that o'er Mrs Flawse's white bones already bare the wind shall blaw for evermair He was still playing when the sound of a horn blown from the locked gate on the bridge sent him running down the drive to welcome Lockhart and his wife.

'The Flawses are back at the Hall,' he said as he opened the gate. 'It's a grand day.' 'Aye, it's good to be back for good,' said Lockhart.

That evening Lockhart dined in his grandfather's place at the oval mahogany table with Jessica sitting opposite him. By candlelight she looked more innocent and lovely than ever and Lockhart lifted his glass to her. He had come into his gift again as the gipsy had foretold and the knowledge that he was now truly head of the Flawse family freed him from the imposed chasteness of the past. Later while Bouncer and the collie eyed one another warily in the kitchen and Mr Dodd played a gay tune of his own composing to celebrate the occasion, Lockhart and Jessica lay not only in one another's arms but something more.

Such was their happiness that it was not until after a late breakfast that any mention was made of Mrs Flawse's absence.

'I havena seen her since yesterday,' said Mr Dodd. 'She was away across the fell in rather better spirits than of late.'

Lockhart investigated her bedroom and found the bed had not been slept in.

'Aye, there's a discrepancy there,' Mr Dodd agreed, 'but I have a notion she's taking her rest all the same.'

But Jessica was too enchanted by the house to miss her mother. She went from room to room looking at the portraits and the fine old furniture and making plans for the future.

'I think we'll have the nursery in grandfather's old dressing-room,' she told Lockhart, 'don't you think that would be a good idea? Then we'll have baby near us.'

Lockhart agreed with everything she suggested. His mind was on other things than babies. He and Mr Dodd conferred in the study,

'You've put the money in the whisky wall with the man?' he

asked.

'Aye, the trunk and the suitcases are well hidden,' said Mr Dodd, 'but you said that no one will come looking.'

'But I cannot be certain,' said Lockhart, 'and it's necessary to prepare for contingencies and I dinna intend to be dispossessed of my gains. If they cannot find the money they can seize the house and everything in it. I have mind to prepare for that eventuality in advance.'

'It would be a hard place to take by force,' said Mr Dodd, 'but perhaps you have other intentions.'

Lockhart said nothing. His pen doodled on the pad in front of him and drew a moss trooper pendant.

'I would rather avoid that necessity,' he said after a long silence. 'I'llhave a word with Mr Bullstrode first. He always dealt with my grandfather's tax problems. You'll go to the telephone in Pockrington and send for him.'

Next day Mr Bullstrode arrived to find Lockhart sitting at the desk in the study and it seemed to the solicitor that a more than subtle change had come over the young man he had known as the bastard.

'I would have ye know, Bullstrode," said Lockhart when they had exchanged preliminaries, 'that I have no intention of paying Death Duties on the estate.'

Mr Bullstrode cleared his throat.

'I think we can find a way to avoid any large assessment,' he said. 'The estate has always been run at a loss. Your grandfather tended to deal only in cash without receipt and besides I have a certain influence with Wyman as his solicitor.' 'Why, man?' said Lockhart brusquely. 'Well, to be frank because I handled his divorce for him and I doubt he would want some of the details of, shall we say, his sexual propensities whispered abroad,' Mr Bullstrode explained misinterpreting the question.

'I dinna care a fig what the bloodsucker does abed,' said Lockhart, 'his name is Wyman?'

'As a matter of fact you've more or less put your finger on what he does abed. Substitute for blood a certain appendage and…'

'The name Wyman, Bullstrode, not the proclivity attendant on the appendage.'

'Oh, the name,' said Mr Bullstrode, brought back from those fantasies Mr Wyman so frequently fostered in his imagination. 'The name is Mr William Wyman. He is Her Majesty's Collector of Taxes for the Middle Marches. You need have no fear he'll trouble you overmuch.'

'He'll not trouble me at all. 'Twill be t'other way round if he so much as sets foot on Flawse Fell. Ye'll tell him that.'

Mr Bullstrode said he would but he said it uncertainly. The change in Lockhart had extended to his language which before had been that educated accent acquired from old Mr Flawse but had now broadened into something more akin to Mr Dodd's way of speech. Lockhart's next statement was stranger still. He stood up and glared at the solicitor. There was a wild look about his face and his voice had a dreadful lilt.