and material mind. His
eyes were grey, small, set rather wide apart, with a heavy nose
between. His hair was a fiery red, cut close, and of a hue yet more
violent than his mustaches. Even the fading light could not kill his
rufous face.

The big man appeared friendly, though Brendon heartily wished him
away.

"Sea fishing's my sport," he said. "Conger and cod, pollack and
mackerel--half a boat load--that's sport. That means tight lines and
a thirst afterward."

"I expect it does."

"But this bally place seems to bewitch people," continued the big
man. "What is it about Dartmoor? Only a desert of hills and stones
and two-penny half-penny streams a child can walk across; and
yet--why you'll hear folk blether about it as though heaven would
only be a bad substitute."

The other laughed. "There is a magic here. It gets into your blood."

"So it does. Even a God-forgotten hole like Princetown with nothing
to see but the poor devils of convicts. A man I know is building
himself a bungalow out here. He and his wife will be just as happy
as a pair of wood pigeons--at least they think so."

"I heard a trowel clinking."

"Yes, I lend a hand sometimes when the workmen are gone. But think
of it--to turn your back on civilization and make yourself a home in
a desert!"

"Might do worse--if you've got no ambitions."

"Yes--ambition is not their strong point. They think love's
enough--poor souls. Why don't you fish?"

"Waiting for it to get a bit darker."

"Well, so long. Take care you don't catch anything that'll pull you
in."

Laughing at his joke and making another echo ring sharply over the
still face of the water, the red man strode off through the gap
fifty yards distant. Then in the stillness Mark heard the purr of a
machine. He had evidently departed upon a motor bicycle to the main
road half a mile distant.

When he was gone Brendon rose and strolled down to the other
entrance of the quarry that he might see the bungalow of which the
stranger had spoken. Leaving the great pit he turned right-handed
and there, in a little hollow facing southwest, he found the
building. It was as yet far from complete. The granite walls now
stood six feet high and they were of remarkable thickness. The plan
indicated a dwelling of six rooms and Brendon perceived that the
house would have no second story. An acre round about had been
walled, but as yet the boundaries were incomplete. Magnificent views
swept to the west and