A DEAL IN PROPERTY


But to return. There was work that I should do--much work if I was
going after the solution. In the first place, there was the house.
I turned my back to the waterfront and entered the city. The
streets were packed, the commerce of man jostled and threaded
along the highways; there was life and action, hope, ambition. It
was what I had loved so well. Yet now it was different.

I realised it vaguely, and wondered. This feeling of aloofness? It
was intrinsic, coming from within, like the withering of one's
marrow. I laughed at my foreboding; it was not natural; I tried to
shake myself together.

I had no difficulty with the records. In less than an hour I
traced out the owners, "an estate," and had located the agent. It
just so happened that he was a man with whom I had some
acquaintance. We were not long in coming to business.

"The house at No. 288 Chatterton Place?"

I noticed that he was startled; there was a bit of wonder in his
look--a quizzical alertness. He motioned me to a chair and closed
the door.

"Sit down, Mr. Wendel; sit down. H-m! The house at No. 288
Chatterton Place? Did I hear you right?"