The man pointed down the Lewes Road, now fringed with houses.
The old schoolmaster had, it seemed, left Huntsman's Lodge at the foot of the Downs, and moved in nearer to his work when he became Manager of the South Downs Transport Co.
Ernie rambled down the dusty hill, the Downs upon his left, picking up familiar objects as he went—the Moot Farm standing up like an elm-girt island from the sea of arable, the long low backs of the Duke's piggeries, the path that wound across the plough and led over the hill to far Aldwoldston in the Ruther Valley.
A young woman with provocative eyes and brightly burnished hair came to the door at his knock and scanned him friendly.
"Is Mr. Pigott in?" Ernie asked.
"He's at his office."
"Could I see Mrs. Pigott then?"
She eyed him merrily.
"You are seeing her," she said; and added, enjoying his embarrassment, "I'm number two. My predecessor sleeps at the back." She tossed her bright head in the direction of the cemetery on Rodmill seen through the open back-door.
Ernie blushed and fumbled.