“No,” I replied, pulling myself together. “I just happened to come here.”
A look of disappointment passed over his face. “Oh!” he said, walking up and down. “I sometimes do a bit with Binders and his friends, you know”—he waved his arms vaguely—“you know, from Corlesham.”
Corlesham I knew to be a village rather more than two miles away, a sleepy hamlet of less than fifty souls.
“Oh, I see,” I replied, more with the idea of not discouraging him than because any particular light had come to me.
He looked at me searchingly for some moments, and then, going over to a thick gorse-bush, he knelt down and groped underneath and presently produced a thick pile of papers and circulars.
“I wonder whether you would like to do anything in these? These West Australians are good. They’re right down to 65. If you can hold on, a sure thing. If you would like a couple of thousand now....” he was nervously biting his nails; then he said, “Could you spare me a cigarette?”
I produced my case and handed him one.
“Thanks very much,” he said. “They don’t like me to smoke at home,” and he waved his hand towards the north. I followed the direction, and just caught sight of the top of a gable of a large red-brick building through the trees.
So this was the solution!
“This is a glorious place,” I said.