The house was small and surrounded by trees, through which the gables showed picturesquely. It was set back some little distance from the road, a path leading through a not very well kept flower garden to the door. Mr Douglas was evidently an apiarist, for a row of wooden hives lined each side of the path, and the hum of the insects was audible even from the road. Along the side of the garden, and passing close to the gable of the house ran a lane, from which a large gate led to a yard in the rear. This gate, Tanner noticed, was standing open.
He walked up the path and knocked at the green-painted door. For some time there was no response, but after a second and more peremptory summons he heard footsteps approaching. The door was opened by a small man with grey hair and a beard trimmed short.
‘Got him first shot,’ thought Tanner, as he politely asked for Mr William Douglas.
The man threw the door open.
‘Walk in, sir,’ he said. ‘My brother is upstairs. I’ll call him.’
‘Your brother?’ asked Tanner sharply, as he followed his guide to a rather poorly furnished sitting room.
‘Yes. I’m John. I’ve lived here for some years, but William is just back from America.’
Tanner nodded. He recollected the hotel porter had stated that William Douglas had spoken with an American accent, whereas this man clearly hailed from the north of England. Besides, the beard was different. The porter had mentioned a goatee, but the speaker’s was cut to a tiny point.
‘Sit down, sir,’ said the man civilly. ‘I’ll send my brother down.’
He indicated a chair opposite the door, and Tanner took it. From where he sat he could see the foot of the staircase, and he watched John walk to it and leisurely ascend. Presently he heard him call ‘William!’