back, and I was right. That's the house up in the edge of the pines. Deep grounds in front and all gone to seed; fits the description exactly. Thank Heaven we struck off from the station in the right direction. This stroll has been long enough. Come out of it and let's get this job finished."
Suiting the action to the words Handlon started off at a brisk pace down the hill, followed at a more moderate rate by Perry. At length they came within full sight of the grounds. Extending for a considerable distance before them and enclosing a large tract of land low well covered with lush grass, was a formidable looking wall. In former days a glorious mantle of ivy had covered the rough stones; but now there was little left, and what there was looked pitifully decrepit. They continued their progress along this barrier, finally coming upon a huge iron gate now much the worse for rust. It stood wide open.
THE road up to the house had long since become overgrown with rank grass and weeds. Faintly traceable through the mass of green could be seen a rough footpath which the two followed carefully. They met no one. As they approached the night of black pines the mass of the old mansion began to loom up before them, grim and forbidding.
Instinctively both shivered. The silence of tare place was complete and of an uncannily tangible quality. Nervously they looked about them.
"How do you like it, Skip?" The words from Perry's previously silent lips broke upon the stillness like a thunderclap. The other started.
"I should hate to die in it," Handlon answered solemnly. "I'll bet the old joint is haunted. Nobody but a lunatic would ever live in it."
"I get a good deal the same impression myself." said Perry. "I don't wonder that Bland sent two of us to cover the job."
As he spoke he mounted a flight of steps to a tumbledown veranda. There was no sign of a door bell on the weather-beaten portal, but an ancient knocker of bronze hanging forlornly before him seemed to suggest a means of attracting attention. He raised it and rapped smartly.
NO answer.
Possessing all the attributes of the conventional reporter and a few additional ones. Perry did not allow himself to become disheartened, but merely repeated his summons, this time with more vim.
"Well, Horace," grinned Handlon, "it does look as if we were not so very welcome here. However, seems to me if you were to pick up that piece of dead limb and do some real knocking with it. The dear Professor may be deaf, you know, or maybe he's—"
"Skip, my boy, I don't know as we ought to go in right now after all. Do you realize it will soon be dark?"
"To tell you the truth, Horace, I'm not stuck on this assignment either. And I feel that after dark I should like it even less, somehow. But, gee, the Old Man. . . ."
"Oh, I'm not thinking of quitting on the job. We don't do that on the Journal." Perry smiled paternally at the photographer. Could it be he had purposely raised the other's hopes in order to chaff him some more? "But I was thinking that it might be a good idea to look about the outbuildings a bit while we have a little daylight. Eh?"
Handlon looked disappointed, but nodded gamely. He delayed only long enough to deposit his camera and traps behind a grossly overgrown hydrangea by the steps, then, with a resigned air, declared himself ready to follow wherever the other might lead.
Perry elected to explore the barn first. This was a depressing old pile, unpainted in years, with what had once been stout doors now swinging and bumping in the light breeze. As the two men drew nearer, this breeze—
