Somerville. The place isn't worth a shilling, only it's handy for her
taking her work in, and she's got to pay him for it being handy. That's
her money he's got in his pocket, only if you knocked him down and took
it out for her you'd be a thief. At least, they'd say you were and send
you to prison."

"Who's the other, I wonder?" said Ned. "He looks more like a man."

The other was a shrewd-looking, keen-faced, sparely-built man, with
somewhat aquiline nose and straight narrow forehead, not at all
bad-looking or evil-looking and with an air of strong determination; in
short, what one calls a masterful man. He was dressed well but quietly. A
gold-bound hair watch guard that crossed his high-buttoned waistcoat was
his only adornment; his slender hands, unlike the fat man's podgy
fingers, were bare of rings. He was sitting alone, and after the fat man
left him returned again to the reading of an afternoon paper while he
lunched.

"His name's Strong," said. Nellie, turning to Ned with a peculiar smile.
"That fat man has robbed me and this lean man has robbed you, I suppose.
As he looks more like a man it won't be as bad though, will it?"

"What are you getting at, Nellie?" asked Ned, not understanding but
looking at the shrewd man intently, nevertheless.

"Don't you know the name? Of course you don't though. Well, he's managing
director of the Great Southern Mortgage Agency, a big concern that owns
hundreds and hundreds of stations. At least, the squatters own the
stations and the Agency owns the squatters, and he as good as owns the
Agency. You're pretty sure to have worked for him many a time without