He came to the conclusion that no one was at home and felt a guilty sense of relief in consequence. But his conscience would not let him depart without another try, so he clenched his fist and gave the cracked door panel a series of tremendous thumps. A thin black cat, which had evidently been asleep beneath the step, burst from its concealment and fled in frantic terror. Then from somewhere in the rear of the house came the sound of a human voice.
“Hi!” it called faintly. “Whoever you be, don't bust that door down. Come round here.”
Ellery walked around the corner of the building. The voice came again.
“Say!” it wailed, “why don't you answer? Be you comin'? If you're a peddler, you needn't.”
“I'm not a peddler,” was the minister's amused reply.
“Oh, ain't ye? All right. Come along, then.”
Ellery “came along” as far as the angle where the ell joined the main body of the house. So far as he could see every door and window was closed and there were no signs of life. However, he stepped to the door, a green-painted affair of boards, and ventured another knock.
“Don't start that poundin' again!” protested the voice. “Come round to t'other side where I be.”
So around went the Reverend John, smiling broadly. But even on “t'other side” there was no one to be seen. And no door, for that matter.
“Why!” exclaimed the voice, “if 'tain't Mr. Ellery! How d'ye do? Glad to see you, Mr. Ellery. Fine day, ain't it? Here I be at this window.”