He found the rear of the house even more dilapidated and forbidding than the front. A ramshackle porch ran across the back, in the last stages of decay, its floor rotted through and its roof falling in. Near by was an old pump which had evidently yielded no water for many years. This did not seem to indicate that the house was occupied, but Allan picked his way carefully across the porch, and knocked at the back door. Again there was silence. He banged with his closed fist, and when there was no response, he tried the door, rattling the knob fiercely. But the door was locked. And then, suddenly, it seemed to him that he could hear a confused sound of voices, faint and far-away. He listened intently, and banged the door again, and again there came that confused murmur. After all it might be only an echo, Allan told himself; no doubt the house was cavernous and empty, and would re-echo strangely to any sound. Or the house might be full of bats—or some strange creature might have its dwelling place there. He crossed the porch again and breathed a little easier as he stood once more in the open air. Plainly, there was nothing for him to do but retrace his steps to the railroad and follow it in to Schooley’s. He sighed at thought of the weary way he had to go. “I’ll have a look at the barn, first,” he murmured to himself, and started toward it. It was perhaps a hundred feet back of the house, and leaned so dangerously to one side that it seemed in danger of falling at any moment. There were two doors, a large one running upon an overhead rail, and a smaller one swinging upon hinges. He tried the smaller one first, and found that it yielded to his touch. Swinging it open, he stepped inside the barn. “Hello!” he called. “Is there any one here?” There was no response, but he fancied that he heard a faint rustling at the farther end of the structure. For a moment, in the semi-darkness, he could see nothing, then, as his eyes grew more accustomed to it, he saw that the place was empty. The stalls on either side had fallen to decay, the roof had rotted away in places and the floor was wet and mucky and covered with an ill-smelling litter. There had at one time been a loft, but the planks which had composed the flooring had disappeared, stolen no doubt by some one in the neighbourhood. Only at the farther end did he find any indication of recent occupancy. Here in the mangers were some fresh cobs from which the corn had evidently been eaten only a short time before, and the floor was covered with a litter of straw, which was tramped and soiled, indeed, but which was still comparatively clean. Farther on, two boards had been laid across a manger and piled with straw, which was pressed down as though it had been used for a bed. It was from this, Allan concluded, that the rustling had proceeded, doubtless from some rats running through it.