Keeley Moore was one of the best if not the best known detectives of the day, and while a quiet vacation would do him good, I was certain he was already itching to get back to his problems and mysteries, with which the city always supplied him.
I threw off my coat and put on a dressing gown, for the lake breezes were chill, and sat at a window for a final smoke.
I felt at peace with the world. Some houses give you that feeling, just as some others make you unreasonably nervous and irritable.
The moon had risen, a three-quarter or nearly full moon, and its shimmering light across the lake made me turn off my room lights and gaze out at the scene before me.
My room looked out on the lake, and the house itself was not more than a dozen yards from the water. The ground sloped gently down to a tiny bit of beach, a little crescent that had been selected for the site of the house. On the right of this placid little piece of shore was the boathouse, a large one, with canoes, rowboats and motor boats. Under the same roof was the bath house, and in front of that, out in the lake, were springboards, diving ladders and all the contrivances on which the bathers like to disport themselves.
To the left was a bit of wild, rocky shore, for the edge of the lake was greatly diversified and rocks abounded, both in and out of the water.
A line of light came across the lake, but was now and then blotted out as the swiftly drifting clouds obscured the moon.
I liked it better in the darkness, for the sight was impressive.
From my window I could see a great stretch of water, and as a background, dense black growth of trees, which came in many places down to the water’s edge.
Often these trees were on a slope and rose to a height almost to be called a hill, while again the ground stretched on a low-lying level.