“Did you take these, Mr. Hilderman?”
“Yes,” he answered. “These are just a few of the best. I have many others which I should like you to see some time. I always leave the enlarging to keep me alive during the winter months. These are a few odd ones I enlarged for decorative purposes.”
“They are beautiful,” I said enthusiastically, for they were real beauties, more like drawings in monochrome than photographs. “And you certainly seem to have got about the neighbourhood since your arrival.”
“Yes,” he laughed, “I don’t miss much when I get out with my camera. Most of these were taken during the first month of my stay here.”
“These snow scenes from the Cuchulins are simply gorgeous, and surely this is the Kingie Pool on the Garry?”
“Right first time,” he admitted, evidently pleased to see his work admired. I thought of Garnesk’s suspicion that our American friend was engaged on detective work of some kind, and it struck me that with his camera and his obvious talent he had an excellent excuse for going almost anywhere, supposing he were called upon at any time to explain his presence in some outlandish spot.
“You must have kept yourself exceedingly busy,” I remarked in conclusion.
After the meal we adjourned to the hut above the falls. Hilderman certainly had some right to be proud of his view. It was magnificent. We stood outside the door and gazed out to sea, north, south and west, for some minutes.
“You have the same uninterrupted view from inside,” said Hilderman, as we mounted the three steps to the door. He held the door open, and I stepped in first, followed by Dennis and Fuller. The window extended the whole length of the room, and folded inwards and upwards, in the same way as some greenhouse windows do. Suddenly I laughed aloud.