A rusty iron gate swinging dismally on its hinges!  An overgrown drive thick with leaves.  There was something about the place that struck a chill to both their hearts.  They went up the deserted drive.  The leaves deadened their footsteps.  The daylight was almost gone.  It was like walking in a world of ghosts.  Overhead the branches flapped and creaked with a mournful note.  Occasionally a sodden leaf drifted silently down, startling them with its cold touch on their cheek.

A turn of the drive brought them in sight of the house.  That, too, seemed empty and deserted.  The shutters were closed, the steps up to the door overgrown with moss.  Was it indeed to this desolate spot that Tuppence had been decoyed?  It seemed hard to believe that a human footstep had passed this way for months.

Julius jerked the rusty bell handle.  A jangling peal rang discordantly, echoing through the emptiness within.  No one came.  They rang again and again—­but there was no sign of life.  Then they walked completely round the house.  Everywhere silence, and shuttered windows.  If they could believe the evidence of their eyes the place was empty.

“Nothing doing,” said Julius.

They retraced their steps slowly to the gate.

“There must be a village handy,” continued the young American.  “We’d better make inquiries there.  They’ll know something about the place, and whether there’s been anyone there lately.”

“Yes, that’s not a bad idea.”

Proceeding up the road, they soon came to a little hamlet.  On the outskirts of it, they met a workman swinging his bag of tools, and Tommy stopped him with a question.

“The Moat House?  It’s empty.  Been empty for years.  Mrs. Sweeny’s got the key if you want to go over it—­next to the post office.”

Tommy thanked him.  They soon found the post office, which was also a sweet and general fancy shop, and knocked at the door of the cottage next to it.  A clean, wholesome-looking woman opened it.  She readily produced the key of the Moat House.

“Though I doubt if it’s the kind of place to suit you, sir.  In a terrible state of repair.  Ceilings leaking and all.  ’Twould need a lot of money spent on it.”

“Thanks,” said Tommy cheerily.  “I dare say it’ll be a washout, but houses are scarce nowadays.”

“That they are,” declared the woman heartily.  “My daughter and son-in-law have been looking for a decent cottage for I don’t know how long.  It’s all the war.  Upset things terribly, it has.  But excuse me, sir, it’ll be too dark for you to see much of the house.  Hadn’t you better wait until to-morrow?”

“That’s all right.  We’ll have a look around this evening, anyway.  We’d have been here before only we lost our way.  What’s the best place to stay at for the night round here?”

Mrs. Sweeny looked doubtful.

“There’s the Yorkshire Arms, but it’s not much of a place for gentlemen like you.”