late in the renting season--even the ordinary difficulties of
finding a suitable spot would have added some spice to the quest--
but this ideal place had practically fallen into her lap, with no
trouble or search at all. Courtleigh Fleming, president of the
Union Bank, who had built the house on a scale of comfortable
magnificence--Courtleigh Fleming had died suddenly in the West
when Miss Van Gorder was beginning her house hunting. The day after
his death her agent had called her up. Richard Fleming, Courtleigh
Fleming's nephew and heir, was anxious to rent the Fleming house at
once. If she made a quick decision it was hers for the summer, at
a bargain. Miss Van Gorder had decided at once; she took an innocent
pleasure in bargains. The next day the keys were hers--the servants
engaged to stay on--within a week she had moved. All very pleasant
and easy no doubt--adventure--pooh!

And yet she could not really say that her move to the country had
brought her no adventures at all. There had been--things. Last
night the lights had gone off unexpectedly and Billy, the Japanese
butler and handy man, had said that he had seen a face at one of the
kitchen windows--a face that vanished when he went to the window.
Servants' nonsense, probably, but the servants seemed unusually
nervous for people who were used to the country. And Lizzie, of
course, had sworn that she had seen a man trying to get up the
stairs but Lizzie could grow hysterical over a creaking door. Still
--it was queer! And what had that affable Doctor Wells said to her
--"I respect your courage, Miss Van Gorder--moving out into the
Bat's home country, you know!" She picked up the paper again.
There was a map of the scene of the Bat's most recent exploits and,
yes, three of his recent crimes had been within a twenty-mile radius
of this very spot. She thought it over and gave a little shudder