Burton mounted the steps doubtfully and stood in the hall, underneath a whitewasher's plank.

The door of the familiar little room stood open before him.

He peered eagerly in.

It was swept bare and completely empty.

All traces of its former mysterious occupant were gone.
"Is this house let ?" he inquired of a man who was deliberately stirring a pail of shiny whitewash.
The plasterer nodded.
"Seems so," he admitted.