those radiating to the edge of the clearing. Everywhere between the
lines were stacks of pit-props as well as blocks and cuttings. Three
or four of the doors were open, and in front of one of them, talking
to someone in the building, stood a man.

Presently he turned and saw them. Immediately they advanced and
Hilliard accosted him.

"Good-morning. We are looking for Mr. Coburn. Is he about?"

"No, monsieur," the man answered civilly, "he has gone into Bordeaux.
He won't be back until the afternoon."

"That's unfortunate for us," Hilliard returned conversationally.
"My friend and I were passing up the river on our launch, and we
had hoped to have seen him. However, we shall get hold of him later.
This is a fine works you have got here."

The man smiled. He seemed a superior type to the others and was
evidently a foreman.

"Not so bad, monsieur. We have four saws, but only two are running
today." He pointed to the door behind him as he spoke, and the two
friends passed in as if to have an idle look round.

The interior was fitted up like that of any other sawmill, but the
same element of design and efficiency seemed apparent here as
elsewhere. The foreman explained the process. The lopped trunks
from the wood came in by one of two roads through a large door in
the center of the building. Outside each road was a saw, its axle