cey, and after an hour's ride they had tea in a
small country town and walked along the edge of the common which Mr.
Dane Montague had described. From the top of the ridge they obtained
a fair view of the entire property. Jacob sat upon a boulder, lit a
cigarette and contemplated it thoughtfully. He confessed himself
puzzled.

"They look wrong 'uns, those two," he observed, "but this land's all
right, Dauncey. It's a capital building site."

Dauncey plucked at his lower lip.

"I don't know anything about property," he admitted. "Never owned a
yard of land in my life. Yet it seems to me there must be a hitch
somewhere."

A young man came strolling along the path, apparently on his way to
the town. Jacob accosted him politely.

"Good evening, sir."

"Good evening," the other replied, a little gloomily.

"Fine view here," Jacob observed.

"Not bad," the newcomer answered, without enthusiasm.

Jacob produced his case, and the young man accepted a cigarette.

"Are you a resident in these parts, may I ask?" Jacob enquired.

"For my sins. I've just set up an office in Cropstone."

"Are you, by any chance, a lawyer?"

The young man laughed.

"Do I carry my profession about with me to that extent? Yes, I'm a
lawyer. Mark Wiseman, my name is."

"Not too many clients yet, eh?" Jacob asked kindly.

The aspirant to legal fame made a grimace.

"Too near London."

Jacob looked down the ridge.

"Fine building property this seems," he observed.

The other assented. "It's for sale, I believe."

"I happen to know that it's for sale," Jacob continued, "and at a very
low price, too. What's the drawback? The soil looks all right."

"The soil's good," the young man acquiesced. "Everything's good, I
believe. The great drawback is that it's just over three miles from
Cropstone, where the lighting and water would have to come from."

"And what about that?"

"They won't supply it, that's all."

Jacob pointed to where an ornamental chimney, a power shed and a gleam
of water appeared on the other side of a small wood.

"Isn't there a private company there?" he asked.

"Practically defunct. They used to supply Cropstone, but the Urban
Council there are running a show of their own."

"Water good?" Jacob enquired.

"I've never heard any complaints."

Jacob glanced at his watch.

"If you would be so good as to call at the White Hart Hotel at half
past six this evening," he said, "and ask for Mr. Jacob Pratt, the