Since this was all the furniture, the place looked bare. As a living-room it left much to be desired; but, since Major Anthony Lyveden did not live in it, that did not trouble him. He used the room, certainly--he was using it now; nightly he slept above it--but he lived in the open air. This was patent from the look of him. Wind, rain, and sun set upon their favourites a mark which there is no mistaking. Under the treatment of these three bluff specialists the handsome face had in a short month become a picture. In all his life the ex-officer had never looked so well. It was when he had given his late master notice and had twenty-one pounds in the world that Lyveden had seen the advertisement-- _A solitary existence, hard work, long hours, £3 a week, fuel, a bachelor's unfurnished lodging, and an open-air life is offered to an ex-officer: the job has been considered and abusively rejected by five ex-other ranks on the score that it is "not good enough"; as an ex-officer myself, I disagree with them; incidentally, I can pay no more; sorry to have to add that applicants must be physically fit. Write, Box 1078, c/o "The Times," E.C.4._ Immediately he had applied by telegram, paying for a reply.... Three days later he and Patch had emerged from the London train into the keen night air of Chipping Norton. There on the platform to meet him had stood his new employer--a tremendous figure of a man, with the eyes of an explorer and the physique of an Atlas, and, after a little delay, Lyveden had found himself seated in a high dog-cart, which, in the wake of an impatient roan, was bowling along over the cold white roads, listening to the steady deep voice foretelling his fate.