It was early morning, and the glory of sunshine was everywhere misleading the eye from the ravages of the night before; yet neither of these two men wore an air in keeping with the freshness of renewed life and the joyous aspect of exultant nature.
There seemed to be an oppression upon them both--a hesitation not common to either, and to all appearance without cause.
To end what he probably considered a weakness, Sweetwater approached the door staring somewhat blankly from the flat front of the primitive old house whose privacy they were about to invade, and rapped on its weather-beaten panels, first gently and then with quick insistence.
There was no response from within; no sound of movement; no token that he had been so much as heard.

Sweetwater turned and consulted his companion before making another attempt.
"It's early.

Perhaps she's not up yet," rejoined the old detective as he painfully advanced.

The storm of the preceding night had got into his bones.
"I don't know.

There's something uncanny about this silence.