“Isobel!” I exclaimed. “You must be right! There must be a law against
pigs! I do wish Chesterfield would stop yelling!”
“John,” said Isobel, “now that I come to think of it I do not believe I
ever saw a pig in all Westcote. I wonder if we couldn't gag Chesterfield
some way? If he howls like that every one will know we have a pig.”
I gagged the pig. I took Isobel's pink veil and wrapped it firmly around
Chesterfield's nose, and brought the ends around his neck and tied them.
Then I stuck his head into the sleeve of my rain coat and wrapped him in
the coat, and tied it all in the linen dust robe. He was well gagged.
“Isobel,” I said, as I took up the reins again, “this is a serious
matter. We will have to get rid of this pig, and we will have to do it
quickly. I do not want to get into difficulties with the City of New
York. Keeping a pig in the suburbs is evidently a crime, and it is a
difficult crime to conceal. If I committed a murder and used ordinary
precautions there might be no danger of detection, but a pig speaks for
itself.”
“Chesterfield does,” said Isobel. “Do you suppose they will put you in
jail?”
“_Me_ in jail?” I ejaculated. “He is your pig, Isobel.”
“John,” she said generously, “I give Chesterfield to you.”
“Isobel,” I said, “I cannot accept the sacrifice. He is your pig.”
“Well,” she said, “we will go to prison together.”