came away again, still more irritated than before. When he rejoined
his friend, Nightspore reported that the workshop was also locked.

"Did we, or did we not, receive an invitation?" demanded Maskull
energetically.

"The house is empty," replied Nightspore, biting his nails. "Better
break a window."

"I certainly don't mean to camp out till Krag condescends to come."

He picked up an old iron bolt from the yard and, retreating to a safe
distance, hurled it against a sash window on the ground floor. The
lower pane was completely shattered. Carefully avoiding the broken
glass, Maskull thrust his hand through the aperture and pushed back
the frame fastening. A minute later they had climbed through and
were standing inside the house.

The room, which was a kitchen, was in an indescribably filthy and
neglected condition. The furniture scarcely held together, broken
utensils and rubbish lay on the floor instead of on the dust heap,
everything was covered with a deep deposit of dust. The atmosphere
was so foul that Maskull judged that no fresh air had passed into the
room for several months. Insects were crawling on the walls.

They went into the other rooms on the lower floor--a scullery, a
barely furnished dining room, and a storing place for lumber. The
same dirt, mustiness, and neglect met their eyes. At least half a
year must have elapsed since these rooms were last touched, or even
entered.