"The house that cannot fail," said he; "a chance seldom met with--perhaps once in a lifetime. I shall not have it long on my books; it will be snapped up in no time. It possesses singular advantages." "Where is it?" asked my wife eagerly. "In Lamb's Terrace, No. 79. Detached and charmingly situated. Ten bedrooms, three reception rooms, two bath rooms, hot and cold water to top floor, commodious kitchen and domestic offices, conservatory, stabling, coach house, coachman's rooms over, two stalls and loose box, large garden well stocked with fruit trees, and two greenhouses." My wife's eyes sparkled. I also was somewhat carried away, but I soon cooled down. Such an establishment would be far beyond my means. "To be let on lease?" I inquired. "To be let on lease," Mr. Gascoigne replied. "The rent would be too high," I observed. "I don't think so. Ninety pounds a year." "What?" I cried. "Ninety pounds a year," he repeated. I looked at my wife; her face fairly beamed. She whispered to me, "A prize! Why did we not come here before? It would have saved us a world of trouble." For my part, I could not understand it. Ninety pounds a year! It was a ridiculous rent for such a mansion. I turned to the agent. "Is there a care-taker in the house?" "No," he replied, "it is quite empty." "Has it been long unlet?" "Scarcely any time." "The tenant has only just left it, I suppose?" "The tenant has not been living in it." "He has been abroad?" "I really cannot say. I know nothing of his movements. You see, we are not generally acquainted with personal particulars. A gentleman has a house which he wishes to let, and he places it in our hands. All that we have to do is to ascertain that the particulars with which he furnishes us are correct. We let the house, and there is an end of the matter so far as we are concerned." I recognized the common sense of this explanation, and yet there appeared to me something exceedingly strange in such a house being to let at so low a rent, and which had just lost a tenant who had not occupied it. "Is it in good repair?" I asked. "Frankly, it is not; but that is to your advantage." "How do you make that out?" "Because the landlord is inclined to be unusually liberal in the matter. He will allow the incoming tenant a handsome sum in order that he may effect the repairs in the manner that suits him best. There is a little dilapidation, I believe, in one or two of the rooms, a bit of the flooring loose here and there, some plaster has dropped from the ceilings, and a few other such trifling details to be seen to; and the garden, I think, will want attention." "The house seems to be completely out of repair?" "Oh, no, not at all; I am making the worst of it, so that you shall not be disappointed. But there is the money provided to set things in order." "Roughly speaking, what sum does the landlord propose to allow?" "Roughly speaking, a hundred pounds or so."