Perhaps a librarian might know. There must be a goodish Public Library in Scoone.
‘I thought you weren’t interested any more?’ said the voice.
‘You go to hell.’
A mechanic, he was. What did that mean? Mechanicien. It involved an endless range of possibilities.
Whatever he did, he was successful enough to be able to travel First Class on a British railway. Which in these days made one practically a millionaire. And he had spent all that money on what, to judge by his overnight case, was a flying visit.
A girl, perhaps? The girl who had promised to wait?
But she had been French.
A woman? No Englishman would go five hundred miles for a woman, but a Frenchman might. Especially a Frenchman who had knifed his girl for letting her glance stray.
The beasts that talk
The streams that stand…