The House of the Whispering Pines | Page 2

of an aspect well-nigh
hoary--extend only to the rear end of the house, where a wide stretch of
gently undulating ground opens at once upon the eye, suggesting to all
lovers of golf the admirable use to which it is put from early spring to
latest fall. Now, links, as well as parterres and driveways, are lying
under an even blanket of winter snow, and even the building, with its
picturesque gables and rows of be-diamonded windows, is well-nigh
indistinguishable in the shadows cast by the heavy pines, which soar
above it and twist their limbs over its roof and about its forsaken
corners, with a moan and a whisper always desolate to the sensitive ear,
but from this night on, simply appalling.
No other building stood within a half-mile in any direction. It was
veritably a country club, gay and full of life in the season, but isolated
and lonesome beyond description after winter had set in and buried
flower and leaf under a wide waste of untrodden snow.
I felt this isolation as I stepped from the edge of the trees and prepared
to cross the few feet of open space leading to the main door. The
sudden darkness instantly enveloping me, as the clouds, whose
advancing mass I had been watching, made their final rush upon the
moon, added its physical shock to this inner sense of desolation, and, in
some moods, I should have paused and thought twice before attempting
the door, behind which lurked the unknown with its naturally
accompanying suggestion of peril. But rage and disappointment,
working hotly within me, had left no space for fear. Rather rejoicing in
the doubtfulness of the adventure, I pushed my way over the snow until
my feet struck the steps. Here, instinct caused me to stop and glance
quickly up and down the building either way. Not a gleam of light met
my eye from the smallest scintillating pane. Was the house as soundless
as it was dark?

I listened but heard nothing. I listened again and still heard nothing.
Then I proceeded boldly up the steps and laid my hand on the door.
It was unlatched and yielded to my touch. Light or no light, sound or no
sound there was some one within. The fire which had sent its
attenuated streak of smoke up into the moonlit air, was burning yet on
one of the many hearths within, and before it I should presently see--
Whom?
What?
The question scarcely interested me.
Nevertheless I proceeded to enter and close the door carefully behind
me. As I did so, I cast an involuntary glance without. The sky was inky
and a few wandering flakes of the now rapidly advancing storm came
whirling in, biting my cheeks and stinging my forehead.
Once inside, I stopped short, possibly to listen again, possibly to assure
myself as to what I had best do next. The silence was profound. Not a
sound disturbed the great, empty building. My own footfall, as I stirred,
seemed to wake extraordinary echoes. I had moved but a few steps, yet
to my heightened senses, the noise seemed loud enough to wake the
dead. Instinctively I stopped and stood stock-still. There was no
answering cessation of movement. Darkness, silence everywhere. Yet
not quite absolute darkness. As my eyes grew accustomed to the place,
I found it possible to discern the outlines of the windows and locate the
stairs and the arches where the side halls opened. I was even able to
pick out the exact spot where the great antlers spread themselves above
the hatrack, and presently the rack itself came into view, with its row of
empty pegs, yesterday so full, to-day quite empty. That rack interested
me,--I hardly knew why,--and regardless of the noise I made, I crossed
over to it and ran my hand along the wall underneath. The result was
startling. A man's coat and hat hung from one of the pegs.
I knew my business as president of this club. I also knew that no one
should be in the house at this time--that no one could be in it on any

honest errand. Some secret and sinister business must be at the bottom
of this mysterious intrusion immediately after the place had been shut
for the winter. Would this hat and coat identify the intruder? I would
strike a light and see. But this involved difficulties. The gas had been
turned off that very morning and I had no matches in my pocket. But I
remembered where they could be found. I had seen them when I passed
through the kitchen earlier in the day. They were very accessible from
the end of the hall where I stood. I had but to feel my way through a
passage or two and