It looked, in that evening light, a romantic and picturesque old spot and one in which you might well expect to see ghosts, or fairies, or the like.

The house itself was something between an eighteenth-century mansion and an old Border fortress; its centre part was very high in the roof, and had turrets, with outer stairs to them, at the corners; the parapets were embattled, and in the turrets were arrow-slits.

But romantic as the place was, there was nothing gloomy about it, and as I passed to the front, between the grey walls and a sunk balustered garden that lay at the foot of a terrace, I heard through the open windows of one brilliantly lighted room the click of billiard balls and the sound of men's light-hearted laughter, and through another the notes of a piano.
There was a grand butler man met me at the hall door, and looked sourly at me as I leaned my bicycle against one of the pillars and made up to him.

He was sourer still when I asked to see his master, and he shook his head at me, looking me up and down as if I were some undesirable.
"You can't see Sir Gilbert at this time of the evening," said he.

"What do you want ?" "Will you tell Sir Gilbert that Mr.Moneylaws, clerk to Mr.Lindsey, solicitor, wishes to see him on important business ?" I answered, looking him hard in the face.