He lowered the rails, and Miss Arsdale led the way without hesitation along a grass-grown road and through an old orchard. The trees were scraggly and untrimmed, littered with dead branches, but Spring, the mother, had decked them with green leaves and buds until they looked as jaunty as old people going to a fair. The sun sifted through the tender sprigs to the sprouting soil beneath, making there the semblance of a choice rug of a green and gold pattern. The bungalow stood upon the top of a small hill, concealed from the road. It was of rather attractive appearance, though sadly in need of repair. All the windows were curtained and there was no sign of life. The broad piazza which ran around three sides of it was cluttered with dead leaves. [Illustration: _He lowered the rails, and Miss Arsdale led the way_] She took the key to the front door from her purse and he inserted it in the lock. "You wait out here," he commanded, "until I take a look around." "I would rather go in with you. I know the house." "I will open it up first," he said calmly, and stepping in before she had time to protest further, he closed the door behind him. He heard her clenched fists pounding excitedly on the panels. "Mr. Donaldson," she pleaded, "it isn't safe. You don't know--" "Don't do that," he shouted back. "I'll be out in a few moments." "But you don't know him," she cried; "he might strike you!" "I 'll be on guard," he answered. The lower floor was one big room and showed no sign of having been occupied for years. It was scantily furnished and smelled damp and musty. At one side a big stone fireplace looked as dead as a tomb. He pushed through a door into the kitchen which led off this. The cast-iron stove was rusted and the covers cracked. He glanced into it. It was free of ashes and the wood-box was empty. He came back and slowly mounted the stairs leading to the next floor. Stopping at the top, he listened. There was no sound. He entered the sleeping rooms one after another. The beds were stripped of blankets and the striped canvas of the mattresses was dusty and forbidding. There were six of these rooms but the farther one alone was habitable. Here a few blankets covered the bed and in the small fireplace there were ashes. They were cold, but he detected several bits of charred paper which were dry and crisp. Some old clothes were scattered about the floor and several minor articles which he scarcely noticed. He listened again. There was not a sound, and yet he had a feeling, born of what he did not know, that he was not alone here. The effect was to startle him. If he had been just a passing stranger looking for a place to lodge for the night it would have been sufficient to drive him outdoors again. He came out into the hall which divided the rooms, and there saw a ladder which led into an unlighted attic. He paused. He heard her calling to him, but he did not answer. He would soon be down again.