The willow trees came to an end; a wall bounded the river for fifty yards or more, and then there arose before his eyes the structure of the lonely old house, guarded by its giant elms--a house seeming to be actually built upon the water itself, one door, as Cuthbert had been told, opening upon the flight of steps which at high water were almost covered.
It was well nigh high water now, and Cuthbert could bring the prow of his boat to within a foot of the door.

There were rings all along the topmost step for the mooring of small craft, and he quickly made fast his wherry and stood at the iron-clamped portal.
How dark and silent and lonely the house looked, rising gaunt and dim in the uncertain light! Who would choose such a spot for a home?
Surely only those whose deeds would not bear the light of day.

And why that deadly silence and torpor in a house inhabited by human beings?
It seemed unnatural and uncanny, and as a great white owl swept by on silent wing with a hollow note of challenge, Cuthbert felt a chill sense of coming ill creep through his veins and run down his spine; and fearful lest his resolution should desert him at the last, he raised his hand and gave the thrice-repeated knock he had been taught by Father Urban.
He doubted if the signal would be heard.

He could scarcely believe that the house boasted any inhabitants, but soon he heard a heavy yet cautious tread approach the door from the other side.

Some heavy bolts were drawn back, and the door was opened a little way.
"Who is there ?" asked a muffled voice.
"One wishful to see Master Robert Catesby." "Why come to this back door, then?
Why not approach the house by the front way, like an honest man ?" Cuthbert was rather taken aback by this question.