e lives in a neighborhood like this, it's class that tells."

Monsieur Dupont bowed again.

"Obviously, madame," he said.

"The only person that used to visit her," continued the gratified lady,
"was a man who often used to arrive in the evening and stay the night.
We understood she was an old nurse of his, or something of the kind, and
that he more or less provided for her."

"And this man, madame--what was he like?"

"He was rather tall," she said, "and had a dark moustache. He was always
well dressed, and looked quite a gentleman."

"You heard his name?"

"No--we never heard his name. I did tell my house-parlor-maid to try to
find out once, but she couldn't. Miss Masters actually accused me of
prying."

"_Mon Dieu_," said Monsieur Dupont.

"We had a bit of a row," said the lady candidly.

"Does she live alone, madame?"

"Yes, quite alone. She does everything for herself."

"My last question," said Monsieur Dupont, "may seem remarkable. It is
this. Have strange things appeared to be happening in the house during
the visits of the tall gentleman with the dark moustache?"

She started, looking at him curiously.

"Strange things?" she repeated slowly.

"Perhaps--violent things."

"Well, that's queer," she exclaimed. "As a matter of fact, we once heard
the most extraordinary noises going on when he was there. My husband
thought of sending in to ask if anything was the matter."

"What kind of noises, madame?"

"Like as it might be heavy things being thrown about and smashed," said
the lady elegantly.

Monsieur Dupont swept off his hat again.

"Thank you, madame," he said--and went back to his car.

CHAPTER XXII

TRANTER ATTACKS THE CROOKED HOUSE

In the evening, Tranter set off to the Crooked House.

It was dark when he reached it, and the roads were empty. Through the
open lodge gates he slipped into the garden unseen. The place seemed
deserted. The front of the house showed not a glimmer of light. The
whole ugly shape of it stood out gauntly against the sky of the summer
night. In the shadow of the trees, he stood watching it, alert to detect
a sign of life. But no such sign appeared. The Crooked House was as dark
and silent as a tomb.

He crept nearer, keeping under cover of the trees, and skirted the lawns
to the back of the house. There, also, darkness reigned. No sound
disturbed the stillness. Facing him were the dark shapes of the trees
surrounding the wing of the house which