Chapter 2 - Page 2

into which they could
be fitted. Great lines of waggons conveyed the white Portland stone
from the depot by the station. Hundreds of busy toilers handed it over,
shaped and squared, to the actual masons, who swung it up with steam
cranes on to the growing walls, where it was instantly fitted and
mortared by their companions. Day by day the house shot higher, while
pillar and cornice and carving seemed to bud out from it as if by magic.
Nor was the work confined to the main building. A large separate
structure sprang up at the same time, and there came gangs of pale-faced
men from London with much extraordinary machinery, vast cylinders,
wheels and wires, which they fitted up in this outlying building.
The great chimney which rose from the centre of it, combined with these
strange furnishings, seemed to mean that it was reserved as a factory or
place of business, for it was rumoured that this rich man's hobby was
the same as a poor man's necessity, and that he was fond of working with
his own hands amid chemicals and furnaces. Scarce, too, was the second
storey begun ere the wood-workers and plumbers and furnishers were busy
beneath, carrying out a thousand strange and costly schemes for the
greater comfort and convenience of the owner. Singular stories were
told all round the country, and even in Birmingham itself, of the
extraordinary luxury and the absolute disregard for money which marked
all these arrangements. No sum appeared to be too great to spend upon
the smallest detail which might do away with or lessen any of the petty
inconveniences of life. Waggons and waggons of the richest furniture
had passed through the village between lines of staring villagers.
Costly skins, glossy carpets, rich rugs, ivory, and ebony, and metal;
every glimpse into these storehouses of treasure had given rise to some
new legend. And finally, when all had been arranged, there had come a
staff of forty servants, who heralded the approach of the owner,
Mr. Raffles Haw himself.

It was no wonder, then, that it was with considerable curiosity that
Robert McIntyre looked down at the great house, and marked the smoking
chimneys, the curtained windows, and the other signs which showed that
its tenant had arrived. A vast area of greenhouses gleamed like a lake
on the further side, and beyond were the long lines of stables and
outhouses. Fifty horses had passed through Tamfield the week before, so
that, large as were the preparations, they were not more than would be
needed. Who and what could this man be who spent his money with so
lavish a hand? His name was unknown. Birmingham was as ignorant as
Tamfield as to his origin or the sources of his wealth. Robert McIntyre
brooded languidly over the problem as he leaned against the