CHAPTER XV
THE LOCKED HOUSE
From the road, just before he descended to cross the bridge into Brookhollow, he caught a gleam of light straight ahead. For a moment it did not occur to him that there was anything strange in his seeing a light in the old Carew house. Then, suddenly, he realised that a light ought not to be burning behind the lowered shades of a house which was supposed to be empty and locked.
His instant impulse was to put on his brakes then and there, but the next moment he realised that his car must already have been heard and seen by whoever had lighted that shaded lamp. The car was already on the old stone bridge; the Carew house stood directly behind the crossroads ahead; and he swung to the right into the creek road and sped along it until he judged that neither his lights nor the sound of his motor could be distinguished by the unknown occupant of the Carew house.
Then he ran his car out among the tall weeds close to the line of scrub willows edging the creek; extinguished his lights, including the tail-lamp; left his engine running; stood listening a moment to the whispering whirr of his motor; then, taking the flash light from his pocket, he climbed over the roadside wall and ran back across the pasture toward the house.
As he approached the old house from the rear, no crack of light was visible, and he began to think he 163 might have been mistaken—that perhaps the dancing glare of his own acetylenes on the windows had made it seem as though they were illuminated from within.
Cautiously he prowled along the rear under the kitchen windows, turned the corner, and went to the front porch.
He had made no mistake; a glimmer was visible between the edge of the lowered shade and the window casing.