All was dark; not one glimmer of light to be seen in any of the
windows.
The garden was secured by an iron gate, and surrounded by iron rails on
all sides, except that nearest the river. Here, the only boundary was a
hedge of laurels, which were still low and thin; and here Dennis Wayman
and his companion found easy access to the neatly-kept pleasure-ground.
With stealthy footsteps they invaded Captain Duncombe's little domain,
and walked slowly round the house, examining every door and window as
they went.
"Is the captain a rich man?" asked Milsom.
"Yes; I believe he's pretty well off--some say uncommonly well off. He
spent over a thousand pounds on this place."
"Curse him for his pains!" returned Black Milsom, savagely. "He knows
how to take care of his property. It would be a very clever burglar
that would get into that house. The windows are all secured with
outside shutters, that seem as solid as if they were made of iron, and
the doors don't yield the twentieth part of an inch."
Then, after completing his examination of the house, Milsom exclaimed,
in the same savage tone--
"Why, the man has swept away every timber of the place I lived in."
"I told you as much," answered Wayman; "I've heard say there was
nothing left of old Screwton's house but a few solid timbers and a
stack of chimneys."
Screwton was the name of the miser whose ghost had been supposed to
haunt the old place.
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