doubtless, the futility of his endeavors, he drew back, and merely
pausing to give one other look at its deserted front, turned his
horse's head, and to my great amazement, proceeded with sombre mien
and clouded brow to retake the road to Melville.

This old inn or decayed homestead was then the object of his
lengthened and tedious journey; this ancient house rotting away among
the bleak hills of Vermont, the bourne towards which his steps had
been tending for these past two days. I could not understand it.
Rapidly emerging from the spot where I had secreted myself, I in my
turn made a circuit of the house, if happily I should discover some
loophole of entrance which had escaped his attention. But every door
and window was securely barred, and I was about to follow his example
and leave the spot, when I saw two or three children advancing towards
me down the cross roads, gaily swinging their school books. I noticed
they hesitated and huddled together as they approached and saw me,
but not heeding this, I accosted them with a pleasant word or so, then
pointing over my shoulder to the house behind, asked who lived there.
Instantly their already pale faces grew paler.

"Why," cried one, a boy, "don't you know? That is where the two wicked
men lived who stole the money out of the Rutland bank. They were put
in prison, but they got away and--"

Here, the other, a little girl, plucked him by the sleeve with such
affright, that he himself took alarm and just giving me one quick
stare out of his wide eyes, grasped his companion by the hand and took
to his heels. As for myself I stood rooted to the ground in my
astonishment. This blank, sleepy old house the home of the notorious
Schoenmakers after whom half of the detectives of the country were