Confident that he was unobserved, he made his way up the half-buried
walk to the porch, and, deliberately mounting the steps, tried
the door-knob. As he expected, the door was locked. After another
searching look in all directions, he started off through the tangle
of weeds and burdocks to circle the house. He passed through what
once must have been the tennis-court of Alix the First,--now a
weedy patch,--and came to the back door. Below him lay the deserted
stables and outbuildings, facing the barnyard in which a few worn-out
farm implements were to be seen, weather-beaten skeletons of a past
generation.
There was no sign of human life. A lean and threadbare scarecrow
flapped his ragged coat-sleeves in the wind that swept across the
barren garden patch farther up the slope,--this was the nearest
approach to human life that came within the range of vision. And
as if to invite jovial companionship, this pathetic gentleman wore
his ancient straw hat cocked rakishly over what would have been
his left ear if he had had any ears at all.
While standing before the gate, Courtney had come to a sudden,
amazing decision. He resolved to enter and explore the house if it
were possible to do so. He remembered that Mrs. Strong, in pursuing
the subject, had declared that Alix and David were not even permitted
to return to the house for their literary products; moreover,
she doubted very much whether the former had taken the trouble to
recover them after she became sole possessor of the property.
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