Chapter II.
The Crooked Cross
There fell a silence for a moment—a silence in which the housekeeper moved nervously over to a near-by chair. Carter's air of boredom had vanished, and a quick look passed between his English friend and himself; a glance which held until the English police officer slowly nodded his head. Then came Carter's cool voice, with the suggestion that we might go to the summer house and see if Warren was there.
Carter must have known the way, for as we came out of the house to the lawn, he turned to follow a graveled path which led away to the right. It ran between two high box hedges, so high that we could not see over them. Then it passed through an old-fashioned garden, only in the end to run in a winding fashion up a small hill—a hill covered with many trees, and which had upon it a stone building.
When the housekeeper had spoken of the summer house, I had pictured the usual small wooden building; but the place we were approaching was not of wood, nor for that matter was it small. Instead of being what I had expected, it was one of those curious eight-sided buildings which you find once in a while in central New York. And it was the size of the usual small house.
It stood upon the very top of the hill, with a small but very well kept lawn before it. Ivy climbed over its sides, and a small piazza was directly in front of us. When we went upon the veranda, I saw that it gave the best view that I had seen during the day. The lake lay only a few hundred feet away, seemingly at our very feet. Far away the mountains faded away in the growing darkness; but we gave but a glance at the view, turning to the door before us.
It had been a rather warm day, and for that matter it was still warm; but the great oak door in front of us was closed, and the near-by window, which was set very high, was closed also. There was no bell, though upon the door was the most curious knocker that I had ever seen. I raised the copper devil's head which formed the knocker and let it fall. Then we waited for some one to respond.
We knocked again and again, and even shouted. But no reply came from within. Without a word Carter made a gesture, and we followed him around the eight sides of the building. On each side was a large window, but placed about eight feet above the ground; windows with small panes of leaded glass, so high that one could not look within; and windows which were shut. In the rear we found another door, also locked, and though we knocked upon it, it was of no avail.
Back again at the veranda, we stood a moment in thought. After all, there did not seem to be anything else we could do. That Warren was not in his library was, of course, the only logical thing to believe. If he had been, he would not have had the doors and the windows locked upon such a warm evening. The odd thing was that we should be invited to dinner and no host appeared to receive us.
I suggested to Carter that we had better return to the house, and then go home. He listened a moment, gave one reflective glance at the lake, and then turned to look at the closed door before us. Then, with a slight frown on his face, he said:
“Perhaps you're right, Pelt. Yet it's very queer that Warren invited us to dinner and left us in the lurch like this. He must have gone away.”