"How far is it?"

"About five miles by road, if you mean the Chase, sir."

"Can I get a conveyance?"

"I don't think so, sir. They didn't know you were coming, I suppose, or
they would have waited; but if you take the road down by the church,
you can get there before the cart, sir. It isn't more than two miles
from the church. You'll find the path a bit dirty, I'm afraid, sir, but
not worse than the road. You can't miss the way, and you can send for
your luggage."

It had been raining, and was still drizzling. A strange path is
sometimes difficult to follow, even in broad daylight, but a wet, dark
evening adds tremendously to the problem. Shorely was a city man, and
quite unused to the eccentricities of country lanes and paths.

He first mistook the gleaming surface of a ditch for the footpath, and
only found his mistake when he was up to his waist in water. The rain
came on heavily again, and added to his troubles. After wandering
through muddy fields for some time, he came to a cottage, where he
succeeded in securing a guide to Channor Chase.

The time he had lost wandering in the fields would, Shorely thought,
allow the dog-cart to arrive before him, and such he found to be the
case. The man who answered Shorely's imperious summons to the door was
surprised to find a wild-eyed, unkempt, bedraggled individual, who
looked like a lunatic or a tramp.