"I once saw him score a ripping try on the Rectory Ground. I was about twenty."
"You haven't a paper to your name."
"Not one."
"You can't even get back to England."
"Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that."
"And you're no better off if you do."
"That remains to be seen too."
"Then Mrs Aird's a writer herself. She knows every word Derwent Rose ever wrote."
"Oh, I had a reader here and there," he replied nonchalantly.
"And she wants to meet you—not Arnaud, but Derwent Rose. I'm to take you round there."