can show you where to get one when you get inside."

Max had by this time reached the ground, which was slimy and damp under
the eaves; and he pushed his way, with an air of recklessness which hid
some natural trepidation, into the outhouse, the door of which was not
even fastened.

"Why," said he, turning to the girl, who was close behind him, "you
could have got in yourself easily enough. At least you would have been
warmer in here than outside."

His suspicions were starting up again, and they grew stronger as he
perceived that she was paying little attention to him, that she seemed
to be listening for some expected sound. The place in which they now
stood was quite dark, and Max, impatient and somewhat alarmed by the
position in which he found himself, struck a match and looked round him.

"Now," said he, "find me a candle, if you can."

Even by the feeble light of the match he could see that he was in a sort
of a scullery, which bore traces of recent occupation. A bit of yellow
soap, some blacking and a couple of brooms in one corner, a pail and a
wooden chair in another, were evidently not "tenant's fixtures."

And then Max noted a strange circumstance--the two small windows were
boarded up on the inside.

By the time he had taken note of this, the girl had brought him a candle
in a tin candlestick, which she had taken from a shelf by the door.