For some few minutes I could see him standing among the trees.

His hands were raised and he seemed to be settling his necktie.

Then he mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive

towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peered through the

trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old grey building

with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a

dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.

However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good morning's

work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham. The local

house-agent could tell me nothing about Charlington Hall, and

referred me to a well-known firm in Pall Mall. There I halted

on my way home, and met with courtesy from the representative.

No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer.

I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago.

Mr. Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable

elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no

more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he

could discuss.

25.12.2007