Almost opposite to his window stood a small mean house fallen into
neglect and disrepair. The windows were curtained with dust, many of the
panes were broken, the shutters hung upon broken hinges, the paint was
peeling from the door. The house had the most melancholy aspect of long
disuse. It seemed to belong to no one and to be crumbling pitifully to
ruin like an aged man who has no friends. Yet this house had its uses,
which Gaydon could not but perceive were of a secret kind. On the very
first day that Gaydon sat at his window a man, who seemed from his dress
to be of a high consideration, came sauntering along that sordid
thoroughfare, where he seemed entirely out of place, like a butterfly
on the high seas. To Gaydon's surprise he stopped at the door, gave a
cautious look round, and rapped quickly with his stick. At once the door
of that uninhabited house was opened. The man entered, the door was
closed upon him, and a good hour by Gaydon's watch elapsed before it was
opened again to let him out. In the afternoon another man came and was
admitted with the same secrecy. Both men had worn their hats drawn down
upon their foreheads, and whereas one of them held a muffler to his
face, the other had thrust his chin within the folds of his cravat.
Gaydon had not been able to see the face of either. After nightfall he
remarked that such visits became more frequent. Moreover, they were
repeated on the next day and the next. Gaydon watched, but never got any
nearer to a solution of the mystery. At the end of the sixth day he was
more puzzled and interested than ever, for closely as he had watched he
had not seen the face of any man who had passed in and out of that door.