CHAPTER IV

Tallente sat in the morning train, on his way to town, and on the other
side of the bare ridge at which he gazed so earnestly Lady Jane and
Segerson had brought their horses to a standstill half way along a rude
cart track which led up to a farmhouse tucked away in the valley.

"This is where James Crockford's land commences," Segerson remarked,
riding up to his companion's side. "Look around you. I think you will
admit that I have not exaggerated."

She frowned thoughtfully. On every side were evidences of poor farming
and neglect. The untrimmed hedges had been broken down in many places
by cattle. A plough which seemed as though it had been embedded there
for ages, stood in the middle of a half-ploughed field. Several tracts
of land which seemed prepared for winter sowing were covered with
stones. The farmhouse yard, into which they presently passed, was dirty
and untidy. Segerson leaned down and knocked on the door with his whip.
After a short delay, a slatternly-looking woman, with tousled fair hair,
answered the summons.

"Mr. Crockford in?" Segerson asked.

"You'll find him in the living room," the woman answered curtly, with a
stare at Lady Jane. "Here's himself."

She retreated into the background. A man with flushed face, without
collar or tie, clad in trousers and shirt only, had stepped out of the