It was clearly disused, for masses of rotting leaves covered it, and by the feel of it underfoot it was grass-grown.
We dismounted now, leading our horses, and after about fifty yards the path ceased and came out on a well-made carriage drive.

So, at least, we guessed, for the place was as black as pitch.

Evidently the house couldn't be far off, but in which direction I hadn't a notion.
Now, I didn't want to be paying calls on any Turk at that time of day.
Our job was to find where the road opened into the lane, for after that our way to Constantinople was clear.

One side the lane lay, and the other the house, and it didn't seem wise to take the risk of tramping up with horses to the front door.

So I told Peter to wait for me at the end of the back-road, while I would prospect a bit.