There was but little moon, and the night was cloudy. The road between high hedges was dark, and in one place, where it ran through a wood, so black that they twice stumbled in the uneven ground at the side of it. “Fancy leaving our comfortable beds for this!” said White again. “Let me see; this desirable residential sepulchre lies to the right, doesn't it?” “Farther on,” said Meagle. They walked on for some time in silence, broken only by White's tribute to the softness, the cleanliness, and the comfort of the bed which was receding farther and farther into the distance. Under Meagle's guidance they turned off at last to the right, and, after a walk of a quarter of a mile, saw the gates of the house before them. 'They Saw the Gates of The House Before Them.' The lodge was almost hidden by overgrown shrubs and the drive was choked with rank growths. Meagle leading, they pushed through it until the dark pile of the house loomed above them. “There is a window at the back where we can get in, so the landlord says,” said Lester, as they stood before the hall door. “Window?” said Meagle. “Nonsense. Let's do the thing properly. Where's the knocker?” He felt for it in the darkness and gave a thundering rat-tat-tat at the door. “Don't play the fool,” said Barnes crossly. “Ghostly servants are all asleep,” said Meagle gravely, “but I'll wake them up before I've done with them. It's scandalous keeping us out here in the dark.” He plied the knocker again, and the noise volleyed in the emptiness beyond. Then with a sudden exclamation he put out his hands and stumbled forward. “Why, it was open all the time,” he said, with an odd catch in his voice. “Come on.” “I don't believe it was open,” said Lester, hanging back. “Somebody is playing us a trick.” “Nonsense,” said Meagle sharply. “Give me a candle. Thanks. Who's got a match?” Barnes produced a box and struck one, and Meagle, shielding the candle with his hand, led the way forward to the foot of the stairs. “Shut the door, somebody,” he said, “there's too much draught.” “It is shut,” said White, glancing behind him. Meagle fingered his chin. “Who shut it?” he inquired, looking from one to the other. “Who came in last?” “I did,” said Lester, “but I don't remember shutting it—perhaps I did, though.” Meagle, about to speak, thought better of it, and, still carefully guarding the flame, began to explore the house, with the others close behind. Shadows danced on the walls and lurked in the corners as they proceeded. At the end of the passage they found a second staircase, and ascending it slowly gained the first floor. “Careful!” said Meagle, as they gained the landing. He held the candle forward and showed where the balusters had broken away. Then he peered curiously into the void beneath. “This is where the tramp hanged himself, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.