and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building
outside. All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a
cigarette to my lips grew rigid. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from
the chimney.
III.
BEHIND THE WALL.
"Ruinous" these farm buildings certainly were; but
"uninhabited"--obviously not quite! I rose stealthily and crossed to
the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to
open. I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute
before anything more happened. My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed
unconscionably slow in his movements.
And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey
shawl about her head. As she looked slowly round her, first to one
side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did
so I knew it was too late. A wisp of smoke had given us both away.
This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite
plainly drifting through the open door.
I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the
doorway. There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.
"Good morning!" I said genially.
She did not start. She did not speak. She just stared at me out of as
unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into. I
suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not
look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.
"I think it is going to be a fine day," I continued breezily.
She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human
eyes, I saw it in hers.
"What do you think yourself?" I inquired with a smile. "I have no
doubt you are more weatherwise than I."
Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister
remark.
"Maybe it will be a fine day for some," she replied.
"I hope I may be one of them!" I said as cheerfully as possible.
She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous
innuendo.
It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.
"My bicycle broke down," I said, "and I took the liberty of bringing it
in here to repair it."
Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motor-cycle.
"What for did you have to mend it in here?" she inquired; very
pertinently, I could not but admit.
"It was the most convenient place I could find," I replied carelessly.
"To keep it from the rain maybe?" she suggested.
"Well
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