ound the house, looking for another entrance, but there
was only the one door.

"This isn't promising," growled Maskull "There's no one here..... Now
you try the shed, while I go over to that tower."

Nightspore, who had not spoken half a dozen words since leaving the
train, complied in silence, and started off across the yard. Maskull
passed out of the gate again. When he arrived at the foot of the tower,
which stood some way back from the cliff, he found the door heavily
padlocked. Gazing up, he saw six windows, one above the other at equal
distances, all on the east face--that is, overlooking the sea. Realising
that no satisfaction was to be gained here, he came away again, still
more irritated than before. When he rejoined his friend, Nightspore
reported that the workshop was also locked.

"Did we, or did we not, receive an invitation?" demanded Maskull
energetically.

"The house is empty," replied Nightspore, biting his nails. "Better
break a window."

"I certainly don't mean to camp out till Krag condescends to come."

He picked up an old iron bolt from the yard and, retreating to a safe
distance, hurled it against a sash window on the ground floor. The lower
pane was completely shattered. Carefully avoiding the broken glass,
Maskull thrust his hand through the aperture and pushed back the frame
fastening. A minute later they had climbed through and were standing
inside the house.

The room, which was a kitchen, was in an indescribably filthy and
neglected condition. The furniture scarcely held together, broken
utensils and rubbish lay on the floor instead of on the dust heap,
everything was covered with a deep deposit of dust. The atmosphere was
so foul that Maskull judged that no fresh air had passed into the room
for several months. Insects were crawling on the walls.

They went into the other rooms on the lower floor--a scullery, a barely
furnished dining room, and a storing place for lumber. The same dirt,
mustiness, and neglect met their eyes. At least half a year must have
elapsed since these rooms were last touched, or even entered.

"Does your faith in Krag still hold?" asked Maskull. "I confess mine is
at vanishing point. If this affair isn't one big practical joke, it has
every promise of being one. Krag never lived here in his life."

"Come upstairs first," said Nightspore.

The upstairs rooms proved to consist of a library and three bedrooms.
All the windows were tightly closed, and the a