Although I had already driven round the base of the mount twice without locating any sign of a mansion, or house of any kind, my natural stubbornness told me that there just had to be a house there.   So, ignoring the urge to turn tail and drive 320 kilometres straight back to Melbourne, I started driving slowly around the base of the mountain for a third time.

This time I did see something.   But not the missing split-level mansion that my Uncle Lindsay Stafford’s executor Thomas J. Holland had assured me that I would find at the base of Mount Peterson — also known as Haunted Mountain, for reasons that I would soon discover.   What I saw was merely a hint of white among the tall, native Australian grasses growing beneath and upon the mount.

Climbing from my Mitsubishi Magna I walked across to examine the white streak, expecting it to be nothing more than a candy wrapper.   Instead, it turned out to be the remains of an address post.   “William C. Stafford” I could just make out upon the worm-riddled wood that crumbled to dust in my hands.

“So much for the split-level mansion, complete with gables, gambrels, and great bay windows!” I thought, remembering the description which the Fitzroy legal firm had given me over the telephone.   “There obviously was some kind of structure here once, but Lord knows how many years, or even decades ago it collapsed into mounds of termite fodder!”

With a frustrated sigh I turned to start back toward my car … Only to see it twenty metres or more up the side of the mountain, slowly reversing up the mount.

“My God, I must have left the stupid thing in gear!” I said starting after the Mitsubishi.   Although even as I spoke I realised that it couldn’t possibly explain the car rolling uphill!

Never much of an athlete (having always finished last at school sports meets, to the consternation of my father who had once almost qualified for a place on the Australian Olympic track-and-field team and had hoped his son might actually make the Olympic team.   Some hope!) I set off up the mountain without any real expectation of being able to catch the car.   To my great surprise though, I found that I could easily lope up the side of the mountain, without even raising a sweat.   “If only dad could see me now!”   I thought as I sprinted up the mount like a true Olympic athlete.