above them the gilding
was patchy and tarnished. Apparently the gates were locked, and even
the side wicket failed to open to Heritage's vigorous shaking. Inside
a weedy drive disappeared among ragged rhododendrons.

The noise brought a man to the lodge door. He was a sturdy fellow in a
suit of black clothes which had not been made for him. He might have
been a butler EN DESHABILLE, but for the presence of a pair of field
boots into which he had tucked the ends of his trousers. The curious
thing about him was his face, which was decorated with features so tiny
as to give the impression of a monstrous child. Each in itself was well
enough formed, but eyes, nose, mouth, chin were of a smallness
curiously out of proportion to the head and body. Such an anomaly might
have been redeemed by the expression; good-humour would have invested
it with an air of agreeable farce. But there was no friendliness in the
man's face. It was set like a judge's in a stony impassiveness.

"May we walk up to the House?" Heritage asked. "We are here for a
night and should like to have a look at it."

The man advanced a step. He had either a bad cold, or a voice
comparable in size to his features.

"There's no entrance here," he said huskily. "I have strict orders."

"Oh, come now," said Heritage. "It can do nobody any harm if you let
us in for half an hour."

The man advanced another step.

"You shall not come in. Go away from here. Go away, I tell you. It is
private." The words spoken by the small mouth in the small voice had a
kind of childish ferocity.

The travellers turned their back on him and continued their way.

"Sich a curmudgeon!" Dickson commented. His face had flushed, for he
was susceptible to rudeness. "Did you notice? That man's a foreigner."

"He's a brute," said Heritage. "But I'm not going to be done in by
that class of lad. There can be no gates on the sea side, so we'll
work round that way, for I won't sleep till I've seen the place."

Presently the trees grew thinner, and the road plunged through thickets
of hazel till it came to a sudden stop in a field. There the cover
ceased wholly, and below them lay the glen of the Laver. Steep green
banks descended to a stream which swept in coils of gold into the eye
of the sunset. A little farther down the channel broadened, the slopes
fell back a little, and a tongue of glittering sea ran up to meet the
hill waters. The Laver is a gentle stream afte