"Here is my card, m'sieur," he grated furiously.
"Demme, I know you!" roared the duke. "Keep your card and we'll send
it in to announce our arrival to Shaw."
In due course of time, after many slips and falls, they reached the
front yard of the house on the hillside. It was still raining lightly;
the thunder and lightning were clashing away noisily farther up the
valley. Cautiously they approached through the weeds and brush.
"By Jove!" exclaimed his lordship, coming to a standstill. He turned
the light of his lantern toward the front elevation of the house.
"Every door and window, except these three, are boarded up. It can't
be Shaw's home."
"That's right, old chap. Deuced queer, eh? I say, Deveaux, step up and
pound on the door. You've got a card, you know."
"Que diable!" exclaimed the count, sinking into the back-ground.
"We might reconnoitre a bit," said Bazelhurst. "Have a look at the
rear, you know."
Around the corner of the house they trailed, finally bringing up at
the back steps. The windows were not only dark but boarded up. While
they stood there amazed and uncertain, the rain came down again in
torrents, worse than before if possible. They scampered for cover,
plunging three abreast beneath the same steps that had sheltered
Penelope and Shaw such a short time before.
"Ouch! Get off my foot!" roared the duke.
"Zounds! Who are you punching, demme! Hullo! What's this? A door and
open, as I live." The trio entered the cellar door without ceremony.
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