Читать книгу Special Detective (Ashton-Kirk) онлайн

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“There it is,” said Scanlon. “And it looks as though it had been there for some time, eh?”

“A fine, cheery old place,” commented Ashton-Kirk, his eyes upon the erratic gables, the twinkling windows and the welcoming porch. “Many a red fire has burned upon its snug hearths of a winter night; and many a savoury dish has come out of its kitchen. Travelling in the old days was not nearly so comfortable as now; but it had its recompenses.”

Their feet crunched upon the gravel walk, and then sounded hollowly in the empty spaces of the porch. Scanlon pushed open a heavy door which admitted them to a great room with a low ceiling, beamed massively, and coloured as with smoke. The floor was sanded; a fire of pine logs roared up a wide-throated chimney; brass lamps, fixed in sockets in the walls, threw a warm yellowish glow upon polished pewter tankards and painted china plates. The tables and chairs were of oak, scrubbed white by much attentive labour; prim half curtains graced the small-paned windows.