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A faint creaking sound drew my glance upward, and stepping back a pace I stared at a hatchet-board projecting above the wall which bore two duplicates of the bill posted upon the gate. "That seems to confirm it," I declared, peering through the trees in the direction of the house. "The place has all the appearance of being deserted." "There's some mistake," muttered Bolton.
A slight breeze set the hatchet-board creaking above my head, as I held my gloved hands about the pine-vesta. At that moment some one or something whistled close beside me! I turned, in a flash, dropping the match upon the pavement. There was no lamp near the spot whereat I stood, and the gateway and porch of the deserted residence seemed to be empty.
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