“What is he doing here in Burlington now?” asked Meldrum.
“Something in connection with lumber, I believe,” said Norton, as they entered North Avenue and turned in the direction of the park. “He has rented a small house out here on this street and lives there alone. He seems to prefer being alone always.”
They walked on for some little distance, and then Norton said, “This is the place,” and indicated a small two-story residence standing alone in a neat garden some twenty yards from the thoroughfare.
It was quite dark save for one lighted window upstairs. The pair went up the path to the front door and Norton, after a little fumbling, found and pressed an electric button, without, however, producing any effect as far as could be observed.
“The bell doesn’t seem to ring,” said Norton, pressing again and again. “Perhaps it’s out of order.”
He knocked at the door and listened. Everything was quiet inside. Heavy drops of water splashed down from the roof, intensifying the silence. A trolley-car hummed on the street, throwing a brilliant light on the trees and shrubs of the garden, and then leaving them darker than ever. Again Norton knocked loudly, but without result.
“That’s not his bedroom, I know,” he said, nodding up at the lighted room, “for he told me he hated the noise of the cars passing under his window. He must have fallen asleep over a book or something. I might throw a stone at the window.”
“No I wouldn’t do that,” said Meldrum, walking back a few paces and staring up. “Perhaps we had better just go away. I can meet him again.”
“But I would like you to see him, now that you’ve come,” said Norton. “Wait a minute.”
He tried the door and found it unlocked. Entering the hall, he called: