“What’s the good? Beckon if it’s right, and we’ll come.”
The unfortunate Coote departed on his quest much as a man who walks into a cave where a bear possibly resides.
His companions meanwhile occupied themselves with examining the gateway and trying to appear as if architectural curiosity and nothing else had been the object of their passing visit to Templeton.
In a few minutes Coote reappeared with a long face.
“Well? is it right?”
“No; it’s a dust-bin.”
The great clock above them began to boom out ten.
“We must find out somehow,” said Richardson. “We’d better ask at this door.”
And, to the alarm of his companions, he boldly tapped on a door under the gate.
A man in uniform opened it.