"But another half-hour brought us back to the same place, and Carroll
scratched his head.

"'Who lives there, anyway?' he said, glowering at the _porte-cochere_,
chin forward, hands in pockets.

"'Nobody,' says Rangon, as much as to say 'look at it!' 'M'sieu then
meditates taking it?'...

"Then I struck in, quite out of temper by this time.

"'How much would the rent be?' I asked, as if I really thought of taking
the place just to get back at him.

"He mentioned something ridiculously small in the way of francs.

"'One might at least see the place,' says I. 'Can the key be got?'

"He bowed. The key was at the baker's, not a hundred yards away, he
said....

"We got the key. It was the key of the inner wooden door--that grid of
rusty iron didn't need one--it came clean off its single hinge when
Carroll touched it. Carroll opened, and we stood for a moment motioning
to one another to step in. Then Rangon went in first, and I heard him
murmur 'Pardon, Mesdames.'...

"Now this is the odd part. We passed into a sort of vestibule or hall,
with a burst lead pipe in the middle of a dry tank in the centre of it.
There was a broad staircase rising in front of us to the first floor, and
double doors just seen in the half-light at the head of the stairs. Old
tubs stood against the walls, but the palms and aloes in them were
dead--only a cabbage-stalk or two--and the rusty hoops lay on the ground
about them. One tub had come to pieces entirely and was no more than a
heap of staves on a pile of spilt earth. And everywhere, everywhere was
dust--the floor was an inch deep in dust and old plaster that muffled our
footsteps, cobwebs hung like old dusters on the walls, a regular goblin's
tatter of cobwebs draped the little bracket inside the door, and the
wrought-iron of the hand-rail was closed up with webs in which not even a
spider moved. The whole thing was preposterous....

"'It is possible that for even a less rental--'

"Rangon murmured, dragging his forefinger across the hand-rail and
leaving an inch-deep furrow....

"'Come upstairs,' said I suddenly....

"Up we went. All was in the same state there. A clutter of stuff came
down as I pushed at the double doors of the _salon_, and I had to strike
a stinking French sulphur match to see into the room at all. Underfoot
was like walking on thicknesses of flannel, and except where we put
our feet the place was as printless as a snowfield--dust, dust, unbroken
grey dust. M