The Hawkshead-road entrance to Old Place consisted merely of a white farm-gate, opening on to a narrow, unmade road, with grass growing between the wheel-ruts. Melkinthorpe explained that it was only a secondary way to the house, the real entrance, which he described as proper big gates, with a lodge and all, lying at the end of Thornden High Street.
“Nice place,” commented Hemingway, as they drove along the track. “Mixture of park and woodland. Does it end at the road, or was that the Squire's land beyond the road, where they've been felling all those trees?”
“I believe his land stretches as far as the river, sir. He owns a lot of the houses around here, too.”
“That's no catch, these days,” said Hemingway.
He said no more, but when the car presently drew up before the house his quick eye had absorbed more than the indestructible beauty of the park. The road had led them past a small home farm (with two more gates to be opened and shut), and what had once been an extensive vegetable-garden, with an orchard beyond it; and had reached the front-drive by way of the stable-yard, where weeds sprouted between the cobblestones, and rows of doors, which should have stood with their upper halves open, were shut, the paint on them blistered and cracked. Where half a dozen men had once found congenial employment one middle-aged groom was all that was to be seen. “Progress,” said Chief Inspector Hemingway. But he said it to himself, well-knowing that his companion, inevitably reared in the hazy and impracticable beliefs of democracy-run-riot, would derive a deep, if uninformed, gratification from the reflection that yet another landowner had been obliged, through excessive taxation, to throw out of work the greater part of his staff.
As though to lend colour to these sadly retrogressive thoughts, Constable Melkinthorpe said, as he drew up before the house: “They say the Squire used to have half a dozen gardeners, and I don't know how many grooms and game-keepers and such. Of course, things are different now.”
“They are,” said the Chief Inspector, getting out of the car. “And the people as notice it most are those gardeners and grooms and game-keepers. So you put that into your pipe, my lad, and smoke it!”
With which damping words he left Constable Melkinthorpe gaping at him, and walked up to the door of Old Place.
A tug at the iron bell-pull presently brought to the door a grizzled servitor, who, upon learning his name and calling, bowed in a manner that contrived to convey to the Chief Inspector his respect for the Law, and his contempt for its minions. Combining courtesy with disdain, he consigned the Chief Inspector to a chair in the hall, and went away to discover what his employers' pleasure might be.
When he returned he was accompanied by Mrs. Ainstable. Two Sealyham terriers, and a young Irish setter, who effusively made the Chief Inspector welcome.