The big shiny silver rolls-royce had braked suddenly and come to a stop tight alongside the filling station. Behind the wheel I could see the enormous pink beery face of Mr.Victor Hazell staring at the pheasants. I could see the mouth hanging open, the eyes bulging out of his head like toadstools, and the skin of his face turning from pink to bright scarlet in fawn colored riding breeches and high polished boots. There was a yellow silk scarf around his neck with red dots on it, and he had a sort of bowler hat on his head. The great shooting party was about to begin, and he was on his way to greet the guests.