wanted to overtake him before he did it, and gently lead him to
understand, here at the outset, that he was a subordinate in this
expedition, expected to do nothing without orders from above.

But he found himself at the end of the street, and saw the country road
dimly winding on beyond, without having found a trace of Peter, or seen
any other human being. Here, for all his hurry, he was checked for a
moment by a sudden new interest. Mindful of the boy's succinct
directions, he paused in the shadow of the wood, which here came to the
sidewalk's edge, and looked across the street for the residence of Mrs.
Carstairs.

Through the trees of a sloping lawn, his gaze fell at once upon a wide
rambling white house, directly opposite, well back from the street and
approached by a winding white driveway. The house was well lighted;
there was a porch-lamp lit; over the carriage-gate hung a large electric
globe. Despite the darkness of the night, Varney had a first-rate view.
The house was big; it was white; unquestionably it was up on a hill
like. In fact there could be no doubt in the world that this was the
house he had come from New York to find.

The sight drew and interested him beyond all expectation. Presently, by
a curious coincidence, something happened which increased his interest
tenfold. His eye had run over the house, about the lawn, even up at the
windows, taking in every detail. There was no sign of life anywhere. But
now as he stood and watched, the swing front-door was unexpectedly
pushed open, and, like some feat in mental telepathy, a girl stepped out
upon the piazza.

Involuntarily Varney shrank back into the shadows, assuming by instinct