“See that bunch of deeper black over there? Well, I’m pretty sure them’s the trees that I told you about. The house stands right in the thick of them.”
A dense black mass loomed against the sky to the right; and as they looked they caught the glimmer of light through it. Kenyon was about to pull up the horses when a second whistle fell upon their ears; so, instead, he shook the reins and went jogging on.
“Apparently Mr. Forrester is a most cautious person,” said he, in a low tone. “He seems to have the place as thickly picketed as the camp of a flying column. I wonder why.”
“He fears visitors, perhaps,” suggested Webster.
“Then why does he remain so close to the city? Why did he not put a long distance between himself and pursuit.”
“Depend upon it,” put in Austin, confidently, “he has some excellent reason. And I feel that we are to have it made plain to us before long.”
Some little distance further along they took down a section of fence, drove into a field and unhitched. After tying the horses securely they made their way softly back across the fields in the direction of the gloomy grove where they had seen the twinkling light. The earth was hard with early frost. Here and there the thin ice, that had formed upon some shallow pools, crackled under their feet; there were fences to climb, and once they came upon a small creek which had to be waded with some discomfort. But finally they arrived at the edge of the grove.
“Well,” commented Kenyon, as they paused for a moment among the trees, “he doesn’t seem to have safeguarded all the approaches, at any rate.”
Softly they advanced toward the house. In places the earth was littered with fallen leaves which were dry and would have made a great crackling under the feet of four men; but by instinct, it seemed, Kenyon led them along the wind-swept spaces, soundless and like shadows.
The house stood in a narrow clearing. Several of the lower windows were brilliantly lighted and threw bars of radiance across the lawn.