Ewan’s indulgent smile patronized all weak women, as he pushed his paddle briskly into the black waters and sent the canoe spinning ahead under fresh impetus.
“Right you are, Bessie. I can’t say I’d enjoy it myself, exactly. It would be different if we had come prepared for out-of-door camping. But they told us at Amity Dam that we would reach the cabin before nightfall.”
“Ewan! Look!”
Bessie had turned her brown head sharply to the left, and now raised her paddle, pointing it at a dark building that stood half-hidden among the thick trees, although at nearer approach a wide clearing was visible between it and the stream.
“By Jove, Bessie, that must be Dr. Armitage’s place, that the natives told us about!” Ewan held his paddle in the water until the canoe swerved shoreward, then with a dexterous movement sent it swiftly to the bank. “No matter how exclusive the man feels, he can’t refuse to set us on our way. I’d like to know, at least, how much farther we’ve got to travel tonight before we reach our own place.”
“It ought to be very near here,” Bessie contributed, holding the canoe steady with her paddle against the gravelly bottom of the stream.
“We'll ask. Surely this strange recluse can not refuse to give a civil answer to a civil question.”
Ewan sprang out and helped his sister to the shore, drawing the canoe safely up on the strand. Together brother and sister walked toward the building that loomed gloomily out of the fast-thickening dusk.
It was a sizable affair, built of rustic hewn logs, yet with a certain pretension that marked it as the property of a more or less well-to-do man. There was a garage, also of rustic logs, behind the house, although the roadway must have been so primitive as to be hard on tires and body paint. "What particularly interested the Gillespies, as they approached closely enough to see die building more distinctly, was the fact that every window, upstairs and down, was protected with iron grating, like a prison or madhouse. The effect on the spirits was somehow not an agreeable one; the inference he drew from those iron bars made even Ewan shudder, and Bessie’s smooth brow contracted uneasily.
“Ewan! I’m afraid!” All at once she caught at her brother’s khaki sleeve, her hazel eyes wide as she stared ahead. “I—I’m sure I saw somebody peering from behind that white curtain upstairs in the room to the right.”
“Jove, Bess, don’t be a goose! What if someone is looking at us? That doesn't mean anything, sis. They would, naturally, you know.”
“Oh, it isn’t just that. It’s—it’s something. Ewan, let’s go back to the canoe. We—we can find our own way, dear, without asking here. You know—down in the hamlet they said Dr. Armitage was—queer—and his wife—maybe not quite—right.”
“Bessie, get hold of yourself. The dusk and the loneliness are taking toll of your nerves,” said her brother bruskly. “I’m going to have a look at these odd Armitages. From what the villagers told us, they will be fairly near neighbors, and it’s just as well to get on good terms with them in the beginning. Come along, little silly.”
Ewan strode up the steps into the wide rustic veranda that seemed to run entirely around the lodge, approached the great oaken door, and with the huge knocker of weathered brass he rapped imperatively.
Silence. Bessie, close behind him, timid hand in his coat pocket, whispered timorously. “Ewan, I can feel eyes on us.”
