He turned
in at the Hall gates, and dismounted from his machine. For some
minutes I could see him standing among the trees. His hands
were raised, and he seemed to be settling his necktie. Then he
mounted his cycle and rode away from me down the drive
towards the Hall. I ran across the heath and peered through the
trees. Far away I could catch glimpses of the old gray building
with its bristling Tudor chimneys, but the drive ran through a
dense shrubbery, and I saw no more of my man.
However, it seemed to me that I had done a fairly good
morning's work, and I walked back in high spirits to Farnham.
The local house agent could tell me nothing about Charlington
Hall, and referred me to a well known firm in Pall Mall. There I
halted on my way home, and met with courtesy from the repre-
sentative. No, I could not have Charlington Hall for the summer.
I was just too late. It had been let about a month ago. Mr.
Williamson was the name of the tenant. He was a respectable,
elderly gentleman. The polite agent was afraid he could say no
more, as the affairs of his clients were not matters which he
could discuss.
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