The road was deserted--not a car nor a vehicle of any description was in sight.
Jimmie Dale made sure of that--and in another instant Jimmie Dale's own car, every light extinguished, had vanished--he had backed it up the wagon track, just far enough in for the trees to screen it thoroughly from the main road.
Nor did Jimmie Dale himself appear again on the main road--until just as he emerged close to the gates of Charleton Park Manor from a short cut through the woods.

Also, he was without his ulster now, and the slouch hat had replaced the motor cap.
Jimmie Dale, in the moonlight, took stock of his surroundings, as he passed in at a businesslike walk through the gates.

It was a large park, if that name could properly be applied to it at all, and the houses--he caught sight of one set back from the driveway on the right--were quite far apart, each in its own rather spacious grounds among the trees.
"The second house on the right," her letter had said.

Jimmie Dale had already passed the first one--the next would be Markel's then--and it loomed ahead of him now, black and shadowy and unlighted.
Jimmie Dale shot a glance around him--there was stillness, quiet everywhere--no sign of life--no sound.
Jimmie Dale's face became tense, his lips tight--and he stepped suddenly from the sidewalk in among the trees.

They were not thick here, of course, the trees, and the turf beneath his feet was well kept--and, therefore, soundless.