walking past, discovered that this was where the gates were set--heavy
gates of wrought iron, very tall, and surmounted by sharp spikes. The
whole length of the wall was, I judged, considerably over a city
block, but there was no other opening in it.

At the farther end, it was bounded by a crossroad, and, turning along
this, I found that the wall extended nearly the same distance in this
direction. There was an opening about midway--a small opening, closed
by a heavy, iron-banded door--the servants' entrance, I told myself.
The grounds of a row of houses facing the road beyond ran up to the
wall at the back, and I could not follow it without attracting notice,
but I could see that there was no break in it. I was almost certain
that the wall which closed the estate on Godfrey's side was also
unbroken. There were, then, only the two entrances.

I walked back again to the front, and paused for a glance through the
gates. But there was nothing to be seen. The driveway parted and
curved away out of sight in either direction, and a dense mass of
shrubbery opposite the gate shut off any view of the grounds. Even of
the house, there was nothing to be seen except the chimneys and one
gable. Evidently, Mr. Vaughan was fond of privacy, and had spared no
pains to secure it.

Opposite the Vaughan place, a strip of woodland ran back from the
road. It was dense with undergrowth, and, I reflected, would form an
admirable hiding-place. The road itself seemed little travelled, and I
judged that the main artery of traffic was the road along which the
trolley ran, two blocks away.

I returned to my starting point, and assured myself that the wall on