"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 south. Brendon's rare sight could still
distinguish Saltash Bridge spanning the waters above Plymouth, where
Cornwall heaved up against the dying afterglow of the west. It was a
wonderful place in which to dwell, and the detective speculated as
to the sort of people who would be likely to lift their home in this