"I'm on the track," he whispered almost aloud in his secret self-congratulation.

"Sixty-two will prove a decent quiet resort which I may not be above patronising myself." But he hesitated when he reached it.

Some houses invite and some repel.
This house repelled.

Yet there was nothing shabby or mysterious about it.
There was the decent entrance, lighted, but not too brilliantly; a row of dark windows over it; and, above it all, a sloping roof in which another sparkle of light drew his attention to an upper row of windows, this time, of the old dormer shape.

An alley ran down one side of the house to the stables, now locked but later to be thrown open for the use of the farmers who begin to gather here as early as four o'clock.