"That seems to confirm it," I declared, peering through the trees in
the direction of the house. "The place has all the appearance of being
deserted."

"There's some mistake," muttered Bolton.

"Then the mistake is not ours," I replied. "See, the bills are headed
'To be let or sold. The Red House, etc.'"

"H'm," growled Bolton. "It's a funny go, this is. Suppose we have a
look at the garage."

We walked along together to where, set back in a recess, I had often
observed the doors of a garage evidently added to the building by some
recent occupier. Dangling from a key placed in the lock was a ring to
which another key was attached!

"Well, I'm blowed," said Bolton, "this _is_ a funny go, this is."

He unlocked the door and swept the interior of the place with a ray of
light cast by his lantern. There were one or two petrol cans and some
odd lumber suggesting that the garage had been recently used, but no
car, and indeed nothing of sufficient value to have interested even
such a derelict as the man whom we had passed some ten minutes before.
That is if I except a large and stoutly-made packing-case which
rested only a foot or so from the entrance so as partly to block it,
and which from its appearance might possibly have contained spare
parts. I noticed, with vague curiosity, a device crudely representing
a seated cat which was painted in green upon the case.