for it was his system to seek
inspiration in the scene of a crime.

Tanton Gardens, a short private street terminating in a cul-de-sac, was
in a remote part of Hampstead. The daylight appearance of the street
betokened wealth and exclusiveness. The roadway which ran between its
broad white-gravelled footwalks was smoothly asphalted for motor tyres;
the avenues of great chestnut trees which flanked the footpaths served
the dual purpose of affording shade in summer and screening the houses
of Tanton Gardens from view. But after nightfall Tanton Gardens was a
lonely and gloomy place, lighted only by one lamp, which stood in the
high road more to mark the entrance to the street than as a guide to
traffic along it, for its rays barely penetrated beyond the first pair
of chestnut trees.

The houses in Tanton Gardens were in keeping with the street: they
indicated wealth and comfort. They were of solid exterior, of a size that
suggested a fine roominess, and each house stood in its own grounds.
Riversbrook was the last house at the blind end of the street, and its
east windows looked out on a wood which sloped down to a valley, the
street having originally been an incursion into a large private estate,
of which the wood alone remained. On the other side a tangled nutwood
coppice separated the judge's residence from its nearest neighbours, so
the house was completely isolated. It stood well back in about four acres
of ground, and only a glimpse of it could be seen from the street front
because of a small plantation of ornamental trees, which grew in front of
the house and hid it almost completely from view. When the carriage drive
which wound through the plantation had been passed the house burst
abruptly into view--a big, rambling building of uncompromising ugliness.
Its architecture was remarkable. The impression which it conveyed was
that the original builder had been prevented by lack of money from
carrying out his original intention of erecting a fine symmetrical house.
The first story was well enough--an imposing, massive, colonnaded front
in the Greek style, with marble pillars supporting the entrance. But the
two stories surmounting this failed lamentably to carry on the
pretentious design. Viewed from the front, they looked as though the
builder, after erecting the first story, had found himself in pecuniary
straits, but, determined to finish his house somehow, had built two
smaller stories on the solid edifice of the