“Surely you’ve heard the cry these past few days? The village’s oldest inhabitant is back with us once again,” said the professor as he began a slow foot to foot hop.
“Don’t be barbaric, man,” scolded Mason. “This is England, not Africa and we do not entertain the likes of lions here. If I were you I would send up to Canterbury to see if any criminal has escaped the prison. As I said earlier,” he turned to Lord Harry, “this sounds to me like the work of some lunatic.”
“Yes, yes I suppose I had better do that,” agreed the young lord with the curious lingering distant look in his eye.
“I say, what do you mean by ‘the village’s oldest inhabitant’?” queried Wood as he put a hand on the professor’s shoulder to steady the man’s increasingly manic hopping. “Is there some old boy with a penchant for blooded beef in these parts?”
Professor Farthing gave a short laugh. “No, my dear sir, I did not mean a geriatric at all. In fact, not even a man if you believe the tales. No, I was referring to what is locally colloquially known as ‘the Devil’”.