ome time after dark I boarded a Sheridan Park car, and rode out to the
Page place; I don't now know why, unless it was because of the
disastrous turn affairs had taken, and that I hoped, in this dismal,
dispiriting environment, to find a balm for my depressed feelings.

It was only that morning, in the midst of a blinding snow-storm,
thoroughly disheartened by the loss of the ruby, that Stodger and I had
left the old house; but as I approached it that night, it bore every
appearance of having been abandoned for years instead of only a few
hours. No smoke curled from the chimneys; no light gleamed at any of
the windows. In its white setting of snow, it loomed silent and
spectral.

In the afternoon I had turned the keys over to Mr. Page's lawyer, and
how I hoped to effect an entrance--if I had any such intention at
all--I have long since forgotten. It may have been because it was here
that I first met Genevieve, that I came mooning through the cold and
snow. She was gone upon a journey; I knew that I could not see her for
days; and perhaps I thought to find some companionship in the more
intimate associations clustered about the dreary spot. At any rate,
here I was. And I saw nothing else for me to do than to turn round and
go back to town again.

However, I started to enter the gate. Next instant I stopped short.
The snow bore other tracks besides Stodger's and mine--tracks pointing
toward the house instead of away from it. They were fresh, made since
the snow ceased.

I advanced a little farther into the yard, where the tracks had not
been obliterated by pedestrians on the sidewalk, and soon comprehended
that they had been made by two men. Were they in the house now? And
if so, who were they? What errand could be so pressing that it would
bring anybody here on such a night?

My indifference and discouragement fell away from me in a flash.
Cautiously I followed the trail up to the front steps, where at first I
fancied it disappeared upon the porch. Still I could not see a glint
of light, nor did the most attentive harkening favor me with the
slightest sound.

It occurred to me while I stood pondering on the porch that, after all,
Mr. White--Felix Page's lawyer--might have been responsible for the
tracks in the snow. It was possible that he had sent somebody to look
after the place; a caretaker, perhaps, who would stay here until a
disposition could be made of the property.

But this idea no sooner o