and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building
outside. All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a
cigarette to my lips grew rigid. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from
the chimney.

III.

BEHIND THE WALL.

"Ruinous" these farm buildings certainly were; but
"uninhabited"--obviously not quite! I rose stealthily and crossed to
the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to
open. I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute
before anything more happened. My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed
unconscionably slow in his movements.

And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey
shawl about her head. As she looked slowly round her, first to one
side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did
so I knew it was too late. A wisp of smoke had given us both away.
This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite
plainly drifting through the open door.

I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the
doorway. There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.

"Good morning!" I said genially.

She did not start. She did not speak. She just stared at me out of as
unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into. I
suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not
look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.

"I think it is going to be a fine day," I continued breezily.

She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human
eyes, I saw it in hers.

"What do you think yourself?" I inquired with a smile. "I have no
doubt you are more weatherwise than I."

Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister
remark.

"Maybe it will be a fine day for some," she replied.

"I hope I may be one of them!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous
innuendo.

It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.

"My bicycle broke down," I said, "and I took the liberty of bringing it
in here to repair it."

Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motor-cycle.

"What for did you have to mend it in here?" she inquired; very
pertinently, I could not but admit.

"It was the most convenient place I could find," I replied carelessly.

"To keep it from the rain maybe?" she suggested.

"Well