Alf Caspar, who had his garage in the Goffs at the foot of Old Town and, in spite of the continued protests of Mrs. Trupp and Bess, still drove for Mr. Trupp (the old surgeon refusing steadfastly to keep a car of his own), had from the start evinced an almost prurient interest in the conception of the hostel. In the very earliest days when Mr. Trupp and Mrs. Lewknor talked it over as they drove through Paradise, the beech-hangar between old Town and Meads, to visit the prospective site in Cow Gap, he would sit at his wheel manipulating his engine to ensure the maximum of silent running, his head screwed round and big left ear reaching back to lick up what was passing between the two occupants of the body of the car. Later, when it had actually been decided to embark upon the scheme, he said to Mr. Trupp one day in his brightest manner: "Should be a paying proposition, sir, with you behind it." The old surgeon eyed his chaffeur through his pince-nez shrewdly. "If you like to put £3,000 or so into it, Alfred, you wouldn't do yourself any harm," he said. Alf sheathed his eyes in that swift bird-like way of his, and tittered. "Three thousand pounds!" he said. "Me!" .... A few days later when Mr. Trupp called at the Colonel's tiny villa in Meads. Mrs. Lewknor ran out to him, eager as a girl. She had received from Messrs. Morgan and Evans, the solicitors in Terminus Road, an offer of the sum required on behalf of a client on the security of a first mortgage. "It's a miracle!" she cried, her eyes sparkling like jewels. "Or a ramp!" said the Colonel from behind. "D'you know anything about the firm, Trupp?" "I've known and employed em ever since I've been here," replied the old surgeon. "They're as old as Beachbourne and a bit older. A Lewes firm really, and they still have an office there. But as the balance of power shifted East they shifted with it." "They don't say who their client is," commented the Colonel. "I'll ask em," the other answered. That afternoon he drove down to Terminus Road, and leaving Alf in the car outside, entered the office. He and Mr. Morgan were old friends who might truly be accounted among the founders of modern Beachbourne. "Who's your client?" asked Mr. Trupp, gruff and grinning. "Out with it!" Mr. Morgan shook his smooth grey head, humour and mystery lurking about his mouth and in his eyes. "Wishes to remain anonymous," he said. "We're empowered to act on his behalf." He strolled to the window and peeped out, tilting on his toes to overlook the screen which obscured the lower half of it. What he saw seemed to amuse him, and his amusement seemed to re-act in its turn on Mr. Trupp. "Is he a solid man?" asked the surgeon. "As a rock," came the voice from the window. The other seemed satisfied; the contract forthwith was signed; and Mrs. Lewknor bought her site. Cow Gap was an ideal spot for the hostel.