The Battling Prophet. Arthur W. Upfield
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did seem that Mr. Luton’s knowledge of them was scanty, and his opinions coincident with those of his old friend. And Wickham’s opinion of those he housed appeared to be governed by the degree in which they interfered with his work.
“Who ran the estate?” asked Bony.
“Feller by name of Sinclair. He still manages it. Employs four men. Him and his wife lives at the back of the station, and the men live in a hut. Ben always said Sinclair made the place pay. Couldn’t do aught else, what with the price rise of wool and fat lambs.”
“Have you any idea of what Mount Mario might be worth today?”
“Near enough,” answered Bony’s host. “Last year Ben was offered one-fifty thousand pounds, walk-out walk-in basis.”
“Did he own much beside the property—investments, other property?”
“That I couldn’t say,” slowly replied Mr. Luton. “He did tell me he had some securities in that chest down below.”
“Down below? The cellar you mentioned?”
“Yes. You want to look?”
“Certainly.”
“All right. We’ll go down. Know anything about locks?”
“One can do much with a piece of fencing wire. I remember seeing some by your back fence. I’ll obtain . . .”
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