The Home Office was only intermittently in touch with him. But
something, never explained, finally drew its attention and he was
put out of India. No one knew anything about it; "permitted to
retire," was the text of the brief official notice.
And he had retired to the most remote place he could find in the
British islands. There was no other house on that corner of the
coast. The man was as alone as he would have been in the Gobi.
If he had planned to be alone one would have believed he had
succeeded in that intention. And yet from the moment I got down
from the gillie's cart I seemed drawn under a persisting
surveillance. I felt now that some one was looking at me. I
turned quickly. There was a door at the end of the room opening
onto a bit of garden facing the sea. A man stood, now, just
inside this door, his hand on the latch. His head and shoulders
were stooped as though he had been there some moments, as though
he had let himself noiselessly in, and remained there watching me
before the fire.
But if so, he was prepared against my turning. He snapped the
latch and came down the room to where I stood.
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