"Cheerful place," muttered Blake, and Stranleigh, turning to the man, changed the subject.
"Where's Morgan?"
"Morgan, sir?"
"Yes; head of this coastguard station."
The young man waved his hand towards a row of two-storeyed houses that seemed brand new, and ridiculously out of place, as if they had been taken from a street on the outskirts of London. These incongruous-looking suburban villas were situated in the midst of a most trimly-kept piece of level ground, part lawn and part garden. In front of them rose the white-painted flagpole, with its cross-spar set at an angle of forty-five, thin rope slightly flapping, but no flag flying.
"Oh, sir, this be'ant a coastguard; leastways, it's abandoned."
"Abandoned? What do you mean?"
"Why, sir, I means just what I say. This was a coastguard station once, but the men are all ordered away, and won't be here no more. I'm only the caretaker until the place is sold."
"Oh, it's to be sold, is it?" cried Stranleigh in amazement. "Why, these houses seem new."
"They are, sir. Not a year old, I daresay, but
