Atherton led the way to the rear. Lessingham and I followed. There was not even an apology for a yard, still less a garden,—there was not even a fence of any sort, to serve as an enclosure, and to shut off the house from the wilderness of waste land. The kitchen window was open. I asked Sydney if he had left it so.
‘I don’t know,—I dare say we did; I don’t fancy that either of us stood on the order of his coming.’
While he spoke, he scrambled over the sill. We followed. When he was in, he shouted at the top of his voice,
‘Marjorie! Marjorie! Speak to me, Marjorie,—it is I,—Sydney!’
The words echoed through the house. Only silence answered. He led the way to the front room. Suddenly he stopped.
‘Hollo!’ he cried. ‘The blind’s down!’ I had noticed, when we were outside, that the blind was down at the front room window. ‘It was up when I went, that I’ll swear. That someone has been here is pretty plain,—let’s hope it’s Marjorie.’
He had only taken a step forward into the room when he again stopped short to exclaim.
‘My stars!—here’s a sudden clearance!—Why, the place is empty,—everything’s clean gone!’
‘What do you mean?—was it furnished when you left?’
The room was empty enough then.