Looking hastily round, his eye fell upon the garden-syringe with which
Athelstane sometimes cleaned the motor-bicycle. It had been left, with a
bucket of water, outside the shed. He drew out the piston, filled the
syringe, then discharged its contents straight at the dog. But at that
most unlucky moment a quick change took place on the wall; the collie
retired in favor of his master, and the stream of water charged full
into the astonished countenance of a precise and elderly gentleman from
next door. For a few moments there was a ghastly silence, while he wiped
his face and recovered his dignity. Then he demanded in withering tones:

"May I ask what is the meaning of this?"

Ingred and Hereward, overwhelmed with confusion, stuttered out apologies
and explanations. The old gentleman listened with his busy gray eyebrows
knitted and his mouth pursed into a thin line.

"I shall immediately take steps to ensure that my dog has no further
opportunities of annoying you," he remarked stiffly, and took his
departure.

"Who is he?" whispered Ingred, as the footsteps on the other side of the
wall shuffled away.

"His name's Mr. Hardcastle. He's retired, and lives there with a
housekeeper. Great Scot! I've put my foot in it, haven't I? Who'd have
thought he was just going to pop his head up? Dad was going to ask him
to lend us his garden-roller, but it's no use now. I expect I've made an
enemy of him for life!"

"I hope he means to keep that savage dog fastened up," said Ingred.