an opened with a key, and, having passed
out, could be heard to turn a lock behind him. A minute more, and this
short, respectable figure came into sight at the end of the passage.
Goldthorpe could not resist the opportunity thus offered. Affecting to turn
a look of interest towards the nearest roof, he waited until the stranger
was about to pass him, then, with civil greeting, ventured upon a question.

'Can you tell me how these houses come to be in this neglected state?'

The stranger smiled; a soft, modest, deferential smile such as became his
countenance, and spoke in a corresponding voice, which had a vaguely
provincial accent.

'No wonder it surprises you, sir. I should be surprised myself. It comes of
quarrels and lawsuits.'

'So I supposed. Do you know who the property belongs to?'

'Well, yes, sir. The fact is--it belongs to me.'

The avowal was made apologetically, and yet with a certain timid pride.
Goldthorpe exhibited all the interest he felt. An idea had suddenly sprung
up in his mind; he met the stranger's look, and spoke with the easy
good-humour natural to him.

'It seems a great pity that houses should be standing empty like that. Are
they quite uninhabitable? Couldn't one camp here during this fine summer
weather? To tell you the truth, I'm looking for a room--as cheap a room as
I can get. Could you let me one for the next three months?'

The stranger was astonished. He regarded the young man with an uneasy
smile.

'You are joking, sir.'

'Not a bit of it. Is the thing quite impossible? Are all the rooms in too
bad a state?'

'I won't say _that_,' replied the other cautiously, still eyeing his
interlocutor with surprised glances. 'The upper rooms are really not so
bad--that is to say, from a humble point of view. I--I have been looking at
them just now. You really mean, sir--?'

'I'm quite in earnest, I assure you,' cried Goldthorpe cheerily. 'You see
I'm tolerably well dressed still, but I've precious little money, and I
want to eke out the little I've got for about three months. I'm writing a
book. I think I shall manage to sell it when it's done, but it'll take me
about three months yet. I don't care what sort of place I live in, so long
as it's quiet. Couldn't we come to terms?'

The listener's visage seemed to grow rounder in progressive astonishment;
his eyes declared an emotion akin to awe; his little mouth shaped itself as
if about to whistle.

'A book, sir? You are writing a