It was a tall building of three stories, although the flattish red-tiled roofs took away somewhat from its height, and spread over an amazing quantity of land.

As Darby thought, it could have housed a regiment, and must have cost something to keep up.

As wind and weather and time had mellowed its incongruous parts into one neutral tint, it looked odd and attractive.
Moss and lichen, ivy and Virginia creeper--this last flaring in crimson glory--clothed the massive stone walls with a gracious mantle of natural beauty.

Narrow stone steps, rather chipped, led down from the blue door to the broad, yellow path, which came round the rear of the house and swept down hill in a wide curve, past the miniature shrubbery, right into the bosom of the park.
"This path," explained Garvington, stamping again, "runs right through the park to a small wicket gate set in the brick wall, which borders the high road, Darby." "And that runs straightly past Abbot's Wood," mused the inspector.

"Of course, Sir Hubert would know of the path and the wicket gate ?" "Certainly; don't be an ass, Darby," cried Garvington petulantly.