CHAPTER XVI.
FACE TO FACE.
Gilbert Fenton left the homely little post-office and turned into the lane leading to Golder's-green--a way which may have been pleasant enough in summer, but had no especial charm at this time.

The level expanse of bare ploughed fields on each side of the narrow road had a dreary look; the hedges were low and thin; a tall elm, with all its lower limbs mercilessly shorn, uplifted its topmost branches to the dull gray sky, here and there, like some transformed prophetess raising her gaunt arms in appeal or malediction; an occasional five-barred gate marked the entrance to some by-road to the farm; on one side of the way a deep black-looking ditch lay under the scanty shelter of the low hedge, and hinted at possible water rats to the traveller from cities who might happen to entertain a fastidious aversion to such small deer.
The mile seemed a very long one to Gilbert Fenton.

Since his knowledge of Sir David Forster's ownership of the house to which he was going, his impatience was redoubled.

He had a feverish eagerness to come at the bottom of this mystery.

That Sir David had lied to him, he had very little doubt.