When he arrived in sight of it he found that it once more appeared to be devoid of any kind of life. There was no smoke rising from any chimney and the doors and windows were closed and barred. He went up onto the back porch and peered through a near-by window, but an empty kitchen met his view. He knocked and waited, but there was no reply, so he walked around to the front door and tried the same thing, without result. No one was in the house, or if they were they had no intention of allowing him to enter. Disappointed, he walked around to the back again and paused to consider.
The major had expected someone to be at the place. Perhaps it was still too early, and although Don did not relish the thought of walking around in the cold and waiting, he felt that he should make a reasonable attempt to find someone. Realizing that it would not do to stand around in the cold he was considering the possibility of making a tour of the surrounding woods, when the sound of an approaching automobile attracted his attention.
It appeared in the distance and lurched in the rutted road, until it was driven into the yard beside him. The man at the wheel, the same tall individual in the black coat and cap, looked searchingly at him. He was a man past forty-five, with a weather-beaten face and piercing gray eyes. He looked keenly at Don and his uniform as he stopped the car.
“What are you doing here, son?” he asked.
“I have a letter for you, from Major Tireson,” Don answered. “Are you Mr. Dennings?”
“Yes,” nodded the man and swung out of the car. He closed the door with a slam and took the letter.
“Major Tireson told me to wait for an answer,” said Don, as the man hesitated.
“All right,” Dennings answered, leading the way toward the house. “Let’s get inside. We won’t get much done by standing out here.”
He produced a key from his pocket and opened the back door, allowing Don to enter first. Once in the kitchen he locked the door, tore open the letter and began to read. Don stood a few feet from him, waiting. The second page of the letter, loosely held in the man’s hand, slipped from him and fell to the floor, right at Don’s feet. As the man did not move Don stooped and picked it up.
As he did so he glanced at it. His eyes fell upon the postscript which the major had written and his blood leaped. The message was brief but pointed. The postscript read as follows: