“In twenty minutes, I was back in Little Gissingham. At once I saw how I had fallen into error. Just beyond the Fox and Goose was a fork in the road. I had taken the left-hand road without really giving the matter any consideration, as the road on the right had appeared to be little more than a lane, leading only to a row of cottages. But now, as I surveyed it with somewhat greater care, I could see that it continued beyond the cottages. I therefore turned my steps in that direction, confident that I was now on the right road. I had lost about fifty minutes by my mistake, but judged that I still had plenty of time left.

“Once past the cottages, the road broadened out a little as it skirted the garden of an ancient farmhouse, the roof of which was crowned with tall Tudor chimney pots, then passed a pleasant-looking meadow in which cows were peacefully grazing. Beyond that, it rose, fell and rose again, and passed between dense woods. Presently, after a long, gentle climb, I reached the brow of a hill, beyond which the road dropped away into the distance. About a hundred yards further on, down the hill, there came a break in the woods on the right, and there, behind a trim hedge and surrounded by neat and attractive gardens, was a substantial brick house. It was a fairly modern house – not more than forty or fifty years old at the most – but if it lacked the venerable charm that age confers upon a property, it nevertheless had a very solid, reassuring air. On the gatepost was a plate bearing the name ‘Owl’s Hill’.

“I had my hand on the gate when two people appeared from round the side of the house. The first was a tall, erect, middle-aged lady, with grey hair done up in a bun. Something in her manner, or her carriage, impressed upon me that this was a woman of forceful character. The second was a workman of some kind, clad in a worn-looking jacket and leather gaiters, and with a small sack over his shoulder. They were speaking, and the lady was pointing to various parts of the garden, and I judged that the man was a gardener or odd-job man, receiving his instructions for the following day. I pushed open the gate and entered the garden as the man raised his cap to the woman in a farewell salute and turned in my direction. At that moment, the woman caught sight of me for the first time, and her features assumed an expression of surprise. She remained without moving on the flagged path, and waited as I approached.

“‘Yes?’ said she.

“I doffed my hat and introduced myself. ‘I am looking for Dr Kennett,’ said I. ‘Six weeks ago, we shared a railway carriage. He left his satchel behind when he alighted, and I have come to return it to him.’

“A frown of puzzlement seemed to pass across her face.

“‘I don’t believe I know anyone by the name of Kennett,’ she responded after a moment. ‘Do you know his address?’

“‘As a matter of fact, I thought he lived here. Does he not?’

“‘Certainly not,’ said she. ‘You are quite mistaken.’

“‘This house is Owl’s Hill?’

“‘Yes, as it says on the gatepost.’

“‘I was informed that that was the name of Dr Kennett’s house.’

“‘Then you were badly misinformed.’

“I quickly described my literary acquaintance, as I had done earlier for the station master, in the hope that she might recognize the description. To my disappointment, however, her face seemed to set more firmly than ever.

“‘I have never seen such a person in these parts,’ said she.

“‘But when I gave that description to the man at the railway station,’ I persisted, ‘he at once directed me down here.’

“‘I cannot imagine why,’ said she in an indignant tone. ‘But wait,’ she added after a moment’s pause. ‘Now I come to think of it, I do believe that the man who lived in this house before we moved here was somewhat as you describe. That must be the man the station master was thinking of.’

“‘When did you move here?’ I asked.

“‘Why do you want to know?’ the woman demanded. ‘What is that to you?’

“‘I simply wondered if it was very recently,’ I replied, taken aback by the sharpness with which she had spoken.

“‘No, it was not very recently. Does that satisfy your curiosity? I am sorry I cannot help you further. Good day!’

“With that she turned on her heel and walked quickly towards the front door of the house. But as I passed through the gate, I glanced back and saw that she was still standing upon the front step, watching me. Somewhat dejected by my failure to find Dr Kennett, and by this odd woman’s unfriendly manner, I set off up the road. As I did so, I heard the front door of the house slam shut. I can scarcely describe to you how utterly disappointed and dispirited I felt then. All my fond hopes for a pleasant reunion with my fascinating acquaintance had been dashed, and I was overcome all at once with a feeling of hopelessness and fatigue, and wished I had never come.

“Some distance ahead of me, almost at the brow of the hill, I could see the old gardener, slowly plodding his way homeward towards the village. Even as I looked, he reached the brow of the hill, and in a moment had vanished from my sight. I stopped then and considered the matter. There was something in the woman’s manner that troubled me. Why had she been so determinedly hostile and unhelpful to me? After all, I was confident that my appearance was not in the least offensive or threatening in any way. Now, my experience as a solicitor has taught me that when people bluster or speak aggressively, it is very often an indication that they are not telling the truth. As I stood there in that lonely country lane, I became convinced that such was the case now. The woman had lied to me, I felt certain of it. But why?

“The sky had clouded over now, and the light was beginning to fade. I glanced at my watch. It still wanted three-quarters of an hour until the time of the last train. I peered through a narrow gap in the hedge. There was no one in the garden. It was as deserted as the road on which I stood. I was all alone, in that shady, isolated spot. No one could possibly see what I was doing. There and then, I determined to take a closer look at Owl’s Hill and see if I could not learn something of its occupants.

“I had observed earlier, as I approached the house, that at the side of the garden, and separating it from the dense woods through which the road had passed, lay a narrow cart track. Now, as I reached the corner of the garden hedge, I examined this track more closely. It passed along the side of the garden and appeared to lead to a field which lay behind the house. Taking a quick look about me, I turned up the track and made my way cautiously along the side of the garden hedge.

“After the first few yards, the hedge was not continuous. Instead, the boundary between Owl’s Hill and the cart track was marked by a narrow thicket of bushes and trees. I was easily able to slip in between the bushes, and press forward until I had a clear view of the side of the house. Facing me, on the ground floor, were French windows, in front of which was a small, flagged terrace. At the side of this terrace was a broad flowering bush, which partly obscured my view of the window, but I could see enough to tell me that the room within was a drawing room. A couple of high-backed armchairs were visible. One of these was empty, but the other, the back of which was to the window, was occupied by someone reading a book. I could see the book and what appeared to be the sleeve of a man’s jacket, resting on the arm of the chair. Just then, a door was opened into the room, directly opposite the window, and the woman I had spoken to in the garden entered the room, crossed to the French windows and looked out.

“I quickly drew myself back into the shelter of the bushes and crouched down. For several seconds, she stared in my direction and I held myself perfectly still. I was filled with dread at the thought of being seen. I felt uneasy and shameful as it was, spying into someone else’s house, which was not something I had ever done before in all my life. The thought that I might actually be discovered in such a low act made my cheeks burn. I was on the point of giving up the whole absurd and dishonourable enterprise and withdrawing from the garden at once, but at that moment I saw the woman begin to speak, addressing the occupant of the armchair near the window. My resolve to withdraw evaporated in an instant as I became consumed with curiosity as to who it might be that was sitting in that chair.