and this new thing was decadent. But there was a mysterious life in
it, for though not a chimney smoked, it seemed to enshrine a
personality and to wear a sinister aura. He felt a lively distaste,
which was almost fear. He wanted to get far away from it as fast
as possible. The sun, now sinking very low, sent up rays which
kindled the crests of a group of firs to the left of the front door.

He had the absurd fancy that they were torches flaming before a bier.

It was well that the two had moved quietly and kept in shadow.
Footsteps fell on their ears, on the path which threaded the lawn
just beyond the sunk-fence. It was the keeper of the West Lodge and
he carried something on his back, but both that and his face were
indistinct in the half-light.

Other footsteps were heard, coming from the other side of the lawn.
A man's shod feet rang on the stone of a flagged path, and from
their irregular fall it was plain that he was lame. The two men met
near the door, and spoke together. Then they separated, and moved
one down each side of the house. To the two watchers they had the
air of a patrol, or of warders pacing the corridors of a prison.

"Let's get out of this," said Dickson, and turned to go.

The air had the curious stillness which precedes the moment of
sunset, when the birds of day have stopped their noises and the
sounds of night have not begun. But suddenly in the silence fell
notes of music. They seemed to come from the house, a voice singing
softly but with great beauty and clearness.