of it. "There's
the bell, sir," she added. "Please ring if there's anything else you
want," and she left me to myself.

I had pushed back my chair and was filling my pipe when the telephone
rang. It was Swain.

"Swain," I said, "this is Mr. Lester. I'm at a place up here in the
Bronx, and I want you to come up right away."

"Very good, sir," said Swain. "How do I get there?"

"Take the Third Avenue elevated to the end of the line, and then the
trolley which runs along Dryden Road. Get off at Prospect Street, walk
two blocks west and ask for the old Bennett place. I'll have an eye
out for you."

"All right, sir," said Swain, again. "Do you want me to bring some
papers, or anything?"

"No; just come as quickly as you can," I answered, and hung up.

I figured that, even at the best, it would take Swain an hour and a
half to make the journey, and I strolled out under the trees again.
Then the thought came to me that I might as well make a little
exploration of the neighbourhood, and I sauntered out to the road.
Along it for some distance ran the high wall which bounded Elmhurst,
and I saw that the wall had been further fortified by ugly pieces of
broken glass set in cement along its top.

I could see a break in the wall, about midway of its length, and,
walking past, discovered that this was where the gates were set--heavy
gates of wrought iron, very tall, and surmounted by sharp spikes. The
whole length of the wall was, I judged, considerably over a city
block, but there was no other opening in it.

At the farther end, it was bounded by a crossroad, and, turning along
this, I found that the wall extended nearly the same distance in this
direction. There was an opening about midway--a small opening, closed
by a heavy, iron-banded door--the servants' entrance, I told myself.
The grounds of a row of houses facing the road beyond ran up to the
wall at the back, and I could not follow it without attracting notice,
but I could see that there was no break in it. I was almost certain
that the wall which closed the estate on Godfrey's side was also
unbroken. There were, then, only the two entrances.

I walked back again to the front, and paused for a glance through the
gates. But there was nothing to be seen. The driveway parted and
curved away out of sight in either direction, and a dense mass of
shrubbery opposite the gate shut off any view of the grounds. Even of
the house, there was nothing to be seen except the c