It was true. The country immediately surrounding the depot was singularly bare. It was flat except for the low bank, four or five feet high, on which lay the railway tracks. There were clumps of trees farther inland, but none along the shore, and the nearest building, a large block like a factory with beside it a cottage, was at least three hundred yards away in the Hull direction.
“Seems an element of design in that, eh, Hilliard?” Merriman remarked as they turned to continue their walk. “Considering the populous country we’re in, you could hardly find a more isolated place.”
Hilliard nodded as they turned away.
“I’ve just been thinking that. They could carry on any tricks they liked there and no one would be a bit the wiser.”
They moved on towards the factory-like building. It was on the inland side of the railway, and the lane swung away from the line and passed what was evidently its frontage. A siding ran into its rear, and there were connections across the main lines and a signal cabin in the distance. A few yards on the nearer side stood the cottage, which they now saw was empty and dilapidated.
“I say, Hilliard, look there!” cried Merriman suddenly.
They had passed along the lane until the facade of the building had come into view and they were able to read its signboard: “Ackroyd & Bolt, Licensed Rectifiers.”
“I thought it looked like a distillery,” continued Merriman in considerable excitement. “By Jove! Hilliard, that’s a find and no mistake! Pretty suggestive, that, isn’t it?”
Hilliard was not so enthusiastic.
“I’m not so sure,” he said slowly. “You mean that it supports my brandy smuggling theory? Just how?”