The Green Bungalow by Fred M. White

The great house known as Fishbourne Towers stood back some four miles from the sea on a wooded slope commanding the country for miles around.

The present head of the house was a man of vigorous middle age and a sportsman to his finger tips. In his earlier days he had been a mighty hunter of big game, and on one of those far-flung excursions of his he had come in contact with Shute, then a man of some means, and not yet sunk into the ranks of pure adventurers. Hence a sort of friendship had sprung up between them that had never quite lapsed.