The night was fine but moonless. Save for the taxi-man and herself, it would seem that nothing moved anywhere about. She came up level with the trees. There was a kind of very small lodge among them, closely invested with ragged shrubs and overshadowed by heavier foliage. Beyond, farther along the road, showed nothing but uninviting darkness, solitude and vacancy. This then must be the place. Zoe peered between the bars of the gate. No light was anywhere to be seen. The house appeared to be deserted. Could the cabman have made a mistake or have been misinformed? Zoe carried a little case, containing, amongst a number of other things, a tiny matchbox. She extracted and lighted a match. There was no breeze, or she must certainly have failed to accomplish the operation. Shading the light with her gloved hands, she bent and examined some half-defaced white characters which adorned the top bar of the gate; by which means she made out the words:-- LAUREL COTTAGE There had been no mistake, then. She opened the gate, and by a narrow, moss-grown path through the bushes, came to the door. All was still. It was impossible to suppose the place inhabited. No bell was to be found, but an iron knocker hung upon the low door. Zoe knocked. The way in which the sound echoed through the little cottage almost frightened her. It seemed to point to emptiness. Surely Laurel Cottage must be unfurnished. There was no reply, no sign of life. She knocked again. She knocked a third time. Then the stillness of the place, and the darkness of the long avenue away up where the trees met in a verdant arch, became intolerable. She turned and walked quickly out on to the road again. CHAPTER XV AT "THE CEDARS" Zoe was nonplussed. She was unable to believe that this deserted place was the spot referred to by Severac Bablon. She still clung to the idea that there must be some mistake, though she had the evidence of her own eyes that the cottage was called Laurel Cottage. The notion of writing a note and slipping it through the letter-box came to her. But she remembered that there was no letter-box. Then, such a course might be dangerous. She looked gratefully towards the beam of light from the cab lamps. The solitude was getting on her nerves. Yes, she determined, she _would_ write a note, and put it under the door. She need not sign it. With that determination, she returned to where the taxi-man waited. "Find it all right, miss?" "Yes, but there's no one at home. I want to write a note and I should like you to go and slip it under the door for me. It is so lonely there, it has made me feel quite nervous. I can mind the cab!" The man smiled and touched his cap. Taxi-men are possessed of intuitions; and this one knew perfectly well that he had a good fare and one that would pay him well enough for his trouble. "Certainly, miss, with pleasure." "Have you a piece of paper and a pencil?"